Week 38 — Table of Contents

• September 17, 2026
• September 18, 2026
• September 19, 2026
• September 20, 2026
• September 21, 2026
• September 22, 2026
• September 23, 2026

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September 17, 2026

Isaiah 29:1–30:18 / Galatians 3:10–25 / Proverbs 22:28–23:9

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Isaiah 29:1–30:18 — The oracle against "Ariel," a poetic name for Jerusalem meaning "lion of God" or "hearth of God," announces siege and distress, yet promises that the multitude of Jerusalem’s foreign attackers will vanish like a dream — judgment on the city is real, but so is the promise that her enemies will not finally prevail. The chapter also rebukes a worship that has become mere lip service, "this people draw near with their mouth… but their hearts are far from me," a verse Jesus later quotes directly against the religious leaders of his own day.

The chapter closes with reversal imagery familiar from earlier oracles — the deaf will hear, the blind will see, the meek will obtain fresh joy, and the ruthless will come to nothing — judgment clearing the way, once again, for a purified and humbled community to flourish.

Chapter 30 turns to condemn Judah’s alliance-seeking with Egypt, made "without asking for my direction," a stubborn people who say to the seers, "do not see," and to the prophets, "do not prophesy to us what is right; speak to us smooth things." The image is damning: a people who prefer comfortable illusion to hard truth, even from their own prophets.

Yet even this rebuke turns toward mercy: "the Lord waits to be gracious to you… blessed are all those who wait for him." Judgment on stubbornness and invitation to grace stand side by side, as they so often do throughout Isaiah — the prophet never lets condemnation have the last word without also offering the possibility of return.

Galatians 3:10–25 — Paul intensifies his argument: all who rely on works of the law are under a curse, since the law itself pronounces a curse on anyone who does not abide by everything written in it — and no one does. Christ redeemed us from this curse by becoming a curse for us, since it is written that anyone hanged on a tree is cursed, so that the blessing of Abraham might come to the Gentiles through faith.

Paul then addresses the relationship between the promise given to Abraham and the law given at Sinai centuries later, insisting the law cannot annul a promise God had already ratified — the law was added because of transgressions, until the offspring should come to whom the promise was made, and it was put in place through angels by an intermediary, a subordinate role compared to the direct promise given to Abraham.

If the law cannot give life, what is its purpose? Paul answers that Scripture imprisoned everything under sin, so that the promise by faith in Jesus Christ might be given to those who believe; the law was our guardian until Christ came, that we might be justified by faith — a temporary, protective, and pedagogical role, not a permanent means of righteousness.

Proverbs 22:28–23:9 — This passage continues the collection of wise sayings begun earlier: do not move an ancient landmark set by your fathers, respect the skill of a man diligent in his work, and exercise self-control before a ruler’s table, recognizing deceptive food for what it can be.

The counsel then turns pointed and practical: do not wear yourself out to gain wealth, for riches fly away like an eagle toward heaven; do not eat the bread of a stingy man, whose heart is not with you even as he urges you to eat; and do not speak in the hearing of a fool, for he will despise the good sense of your words. Each proverb protects the wise from wasted effort — chasing wealth that will not last, trusting hospitality that is not genuine, or offering wisdom where it cannot be received.

Together

Isaiah’s rebuke of a people who want "smooth things" instead of truth, and Paul’s insistence that the law cannot be softened into a manageable path to righteousness, share the same refusal to let comfortable illusion stand in for reality. Judah wanted prophets who would not disturb their false security; the Galatians, in a different way, wanted a law that could be kept well enough to secure their own standing. Both desires are, at root, a wish to avoid full dependence on God’s grace.

Proverbs’ warnings against chasing wealth or trusting false hospitality operate on a smaller scale but make a similar point: much of what looks secure or beneficial on the surface — riches, a lavish table, a fool’s approval — cannot bear the weight we want to place on it.

The application is to ask where we, like Judah, prefer smooth words to hard truth, or where, like the Galatians, we quietly hope our own effort can secure what only grace can give — and to receive instead Isaiah’s invitation to wait for the Lord who is gracious, and Paul’s assurance that the curse has already been borne by another, so that the blessing might simply be received by faith.

September 18, 2026

Isaiah 30:19–32:20 / Galatians 3:26–4:20 / Psalm 108:1–5

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Isaiah 30:19–32:20 — The chapter turns from rebuke to tender promise: though the Lord gives the bread of adversity and water of affliction, "your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher" — a picture of direct, personal instruction replacing the smooth deception the people had preferred. A voice behind them will say, "This is the way, walk in it," whenever they turn to the right or the left.

Chapter 31 renews the warning against trusting Egypt’s horses and chariots instead of the Holy One of Israel — "the Egyptians are man, and not God, and their horses are flesh, and not spirit" — a plain contrast meant to expose the folly of trusting visible military strength over the invisible, living God.

Chapter 32 opens with a portrait of righteous kingship: "Behold, a king will reign in righteousness, and princes will rule in justice," each like a hiding place from the wind, a shelter from the storm, streams of water in a dry place — an image that resonates with the earlier promise of the shoot from Jesse’s stump, describing what true, godly rule actually accomplishes for those under it.

The chapter closes with judgment on complacent women who feel secure, warning that ease will not last many days — followed once more by a promise of the Spirit poured out from on high, transforming wilderness into fruitful field and fruitful field into forest, until justice dwells in the wilderness and righteousness in the fruitful field, and the effect of righteousness is peace and quietness forever.

Galatians 3:26–4:20 — Paul draws his argument about the law’s temporary, guardian role to its climax: through faith, all are sons of God in Christ Jesus, for as many as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ. In him, the deep social divisions of the ancient world — Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female — do not disappear as facts of identity, but no longer determine one’s standing before God, for all are one in Christ Jesus and, if Christ’s, are Abraham’s offspring and heirs according to promise.

Paul then illustrates the change with the image of an heir who, as a child, is no different from a slave, even though he owns the whole estate, because he is under guardians and managers until the date set by his father. So too, before Christ, we were enslaved to elementary principles, but when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. Because we are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying "Abba! Father!" — we are no longer slaves but sons, and if sons, then heirs through God.

Paul closes this section with visible pastoral anguish, recalling how warmly the Galatians once received him despite his bodily illness, and asking what has happened to their blessedness, since he is again in the anguish of childbirth until Christ is formed in them. His theology is never merely abstract; it is always in service of real, beloved people whose drift toward a different gospel wounds him personally.

Psalm 108:1–5 — David’s heart is described as "steadfast," resolved to sing and make melody with his whole being, awaking the dawn itself with instruments and praise. The psalm situates worship not as a response to circumstance but as a settled disposition that precedes and shapes whatever the day will bring.

The psalmist commits to give thanks among the peoples and sing praises among the nations, "for your steadfast love is great above the heavens, your faithfulness reaches to the clouds," closing with the prayer that God be exalted above the heavens and his glory over all the earth — worship expanding outward from the individual heart to the whole world.

Together

Isaiah’s righteous king who shelters his people like a hiding place from the storm, and Paul’s picture of the adopted son crying "Abba, Father" instead of cowering as a slave, both describe the same fundamental shift: from anxious vulnerability under a hard system to secure belonging under a loving one. The king of Isaiah 32 governs so that his people no longer need to fear the storm; the Spirit of Galatians 4 assures the believer that they no longer need to fear their Father.

Psalm 108’s steadfast heart, resolved to praise before the day even begins, models what that secure belonging produces: not passive relief but active, overflowing worship that reaches beyond the individual to the nations.

The application is to notice whether our own posture toward God still resembles the guardian-managed child, anxious and unsure of standing, or the adopted son who cries "Abba, Father" freely — and to let that secure identity, like David’s steadfast heart, produce worship that begins before the day’s circumstances have even had the chance to determine our mood.

September 19, 2026

Isaiah 33:1–35:10 / Galatians 4:21–5:6 / Psalm 108:6–13

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Isaiah 33:1–35:10 — Chapter 33 opens with a woe against the destroyer who has himself not been destroyed, and moves into a vision of the Lord exalted, filling Zion with justice and righteousness, becoming the stability of her times, a treasure of salvation, wisdom, and knowledge — the fear of the Lord described here as "Zion’s treasure." The chapter asks who can dwell with the consuming fire of God’s holiness, and answers: the one who walks righteously and speaks uprightly, who despises the gain of oppression — a portrait of the kind of person fit for God’s holy presence.

Chapter 34 pronounces sweeping judgment on the nations, particularly Edom, in language deliberately reminiscent of the flood and of Sodom — the land turned to burning pitch, generation after generation lying desolate — judgment described with an intensity that anticipates the final judgment of Revelation.

Chapter 35 answers this desolation with one of the most beautiful reversal poems in Scripture: the wilderness and dry land will be glad, the desert will rejoice and blossom, the eyes of the blind will be opened, the ears of the deaf unstopped, the lame will leap like a deer, and the tongue of the mute will sing for joy, for waters will break forth in the wilderness. A highway called the Way of Holiness will run through this transformed landscape, on which the ransomed of the Lord will return to Zion with everlasting joy upon their heads, sorrow and sighing fleeing away — a passage Jesus later echoes in his own healing ministry as evidence that this promised age has begun.

Galatians 4:21–5:6 — Paul offers an allegorical reading of Abraham’s two sons: Hagar, the slave woman, corresponds to the covenant from Mount Sinai, bearing children for slavery, while Sarah, the free woman, corresponds to the Jerusalem above, our mother, free and fruitful. Just as Ishmael, born according to the flesh, persecuted Isaac, born according to promise, so now those who insist on law-keeping persecute those who live by the Spirit — and Scripture’s own verdict is clear: "Cast out the slave woman and her son, for the son of the slave woman shall not inherit with the son of the free woman."

From this Paul draws the letter’s central appeal: "For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery." If the Galatians accept circumcision as necessary for standing before God, Christ will be of no advantage to them; they would be obligated to keep the whole law and would be severed from Christ, fallen away from grace.

Paul closes with a striking summary of what actually matters: in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything, but only faith working through love. The entire debate over law-keeping is reframed around a single question — not ritual status, but a faith that expresses itself in love.

Psalm 108:6–13 — The psalm shifts to petition, asking that God’s beloved ones be delivered by his right hand, and rehearses God’s sovereign claims over Israel’s tribes and neighboring territories — Gilead, Manasseh, Ephraim as helmet, Judah as scepter — even the traditionally hostile Moab, Edom, and Philistia brought under his authority in vivid, almost defiant imagery.

The psalm ends honestly acknowledging present difficulty — "have you not rejected us, O God? You do not go out, O God, with our armies" — before turning that very honesty into a plea for help against the foe, closing with confidence that "with God we shall do valiantly; it is he who will tread down our foes." Even unresolved lament ends oriented toward trust rather than despair.

Together

Isaiah’s highway of holiness through a transformed wilderness and Paul’s declaration "for freedom Christ has set us free" describe the same movement from bondage to joyful liberty — Isaiah pictures it in the language of healed bodies and blooming deserts, Paul in the language of adoption and freedom from a yoke of slavery. Both texts insist that the end goal of God’s redemptive work is not merely relief from judgment but positive, overflowing gladness.

Psalm 108’s honest admission of present weakness — "you do not go out, O God, with our armies" — reminds us that this freedom and flourishing is not always immediately visible in our circumstances, even while it remains certain in promise. The psalmist does not pretend the gap away; he simply refuses to let it have the final word.

The application is to walk today, as much as possible, on Isaiah’s highway of holiness and in Paul’s freedom rather than reverting to old yokes — while also allowing space, like the psalmist, for honest acknowledgment of present struggle that still ends in confident trust that with God we will do valiantly.

September 20, 2026

Isaiah 36:1–37:38 / Galatians 5:7–26 / Psalm 109:1–20

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Isaiah 36:1–37:38 — These chapters narrate one of the most dramatic episodes in Isaiah, paralleled in 2 Kings: the Assyrian king Sennacherib’s field commander stands before Jerusalem’s walls and delivers a taunting speech designed to break the city’s resolve, mocking Hezekiah’s trust in the Lord and boasting that no god of any nation has been able to deliver its people from Assyria’s hand. The speech is calculated psychological warfare, deliberately spoken in Hebrew so that the people on the wall would understand every word of despair being offered to them.

Hezekiah’s response models faithful crisis leadership: he tears his clothes, covers himself with sackcloth, and goes into the house of the Lord, sending word to Isaiah and receiving the prophet’s assurance not to be afraid of the words spoken against the Lord. When a second, even more blasphemous letter arrives, Hezekiah spreads it before the Lord in the temple and prays — not a private, silent anxiety but an act of bringing the actual threat physically into God’s presence.

Isaiah’s answering oracle is one of the most vivid taunts in Scripture, personifying Jerusalem as a virgin daughter who despises and laughs the Assyrian king to scorn, and rebuking Sennacherib’s arrogance directly: "Whom have you mocked and reviled? Against whom have you raised your voice?" That very night, the angel of the Lord strikes down a hundred and eighty-five thousand in the Assyrian camp, and Sennacherib withdraws, later to be assassinated by his own sons in the house of his own god — a stunning reversal of the taunt he had leveled at the God of Jerusalem.

Galatians 5:7–26 — Paul expresses frustration that the Galatians, who were running well, have been hindered from obeying the truth by "a little leaven" that leavens the whole lump — a warning that error, however small its apparent scale, tends to spread through a whole community if left unaddressed. He wishes those unsettling them would even mutilate themselves, given their obsession with circumcision.

Paul then pivots to the positive use of the freedom he has just defended: "you were called to freedom… only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another," summarizing the entire law in the single command to love your neighbor as yourself. Freedom from the law is never freedom for self-indulgence, but freedom for love.

The famous contrast between the works of the flesh and the fruit of the Spirit follows: sexual immorality, enmity, strife, jealousy, and their kind stand against love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control — against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires, and Paul closes with the call to keep in step with the Spirit, avoiding the conceit, provocation, and envy that fracture community.

Psalm 109:1–20 — This is one of the psalter’s fiercest imprecatory psalms, David appealing to God as one surrounded by accusers who repay his love with hatred and his good with evil. He describes his enemies’ wickedness at length before turning to a series of severe petitions against a particular adversary — that his days be few, his children fatherless, his memory cut off from the earth.

The intensity of this psalm can be jarring, but it functions as raw, unfiltered lament handed directly to God rather than acted out — David brings his desire for justice to the Lord’s judgment seat rather than taking vengeance himself, trusting God to be the one who repays. It stands as a model of bringing even our darkest desires honestly before God rather than suppressing or privately nursing them.

Together

Hezekiah’s response to Sennacherib’s taunts and David’s response to his enemies’ cruelty both model the same essential move: taking a real, threatening injustice and placing it directly before God rather than either denying its weight or taking matters into one’s own hands. Hezekiah spreads the letter before the Lord; David pours out his anguish and his desire for justice in prayer.

Paul’s fruit of the Spirit — patience, kindness, gentleness, self-control — describes the character that such God-directed processing of pain is meant to cultivate, rather than the flesh’s instinct toward enmity, strife, and rivalry that could easily have consumed both Hezekiah and David had they acted from raw impulse alone.

The application is to notice where we are tempted, like the Galatians warned against biting and devouring one another, to handle injury or threat in our own strength — and instead to practice Hezekiah’s and David’s pattern of bringing the actual threat, letter, or grievance before God, trusting him as the one who ultimately judges rightly, while the Spirit forms in us the patience and gentleness that raw vengeance never could.

September 21, 2026

Isaiah 38:1–40:31 / Galatians 6:1–18 / Proverbs 23:10–18

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Isaiah 38:1–40:31 — Hezekiah, sick to the point of death, weeps bitterly when told to set his house in order, and the Lord hears his prayer and adds fifteen years to his life, confirmed by the sign of the sun’s shadow moving backward — a personal deliverance echoing the national deliverance from Sennacherib just recounted. Hezekiah’s song of thanksgiving that follows reflects on mortality with unusual candor, grateful simply to still be among the living who can praise God.

Chapter 39 introduces a troubling coda: Hezekiah proudly shows Babylonian envoys all the treasures of his house, and Isaiah announces that everything shown will one day be carried off to Babylon, and some of Hezekiah’s own descendants will serve as eunuchs in the Babylonian palace. Hezekiah’s response — relief that at least it will not happen in his own days — reveals a troubling shortsightedness even in an otherwise faithful king, setting up the book’s decisive turn toward the exile that chapters 40 and following presuppose.

Chapter 40 then opens what many read as the book’s second major movement with words of extraordinary tenderness: "Comfort, comfort my people, says your God… speak tenderly to Jerusalem… her warfare is ended, her iniquity is pardoned." A voice cries to prepare the way of the Lord in the wilderness, every valley lifted up, every mountain made low — words the Gospels apply directly to John the Baptist’s ministry preparing the way for Christ.

The chapter builds to a majestic meditation on God’s incomparable greatness — who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, before whom the nations are like a drop from a bucket — and closes with one of Scripture’s most beloved promises: "they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint." After thirty-nine chapters of judgment and rebuke, the book’s tone turns decisively toward comfort, and this promise of renewed strength for the weary becomes the theme of much that follows.

Galatians 6:1–18 — Paul closes the letter with practical instructions flowing from the Spirit-filled freedom just described: if anyone is caught in a transgression, those who are spiritual should restore him gently, watching themselves so they too are not tempted; bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ — a striking reformulation, since Paul has spent the letter arguing against law-keeping as the ground of righteousness, yet here names a "law" that is fulfilled precisely through Spirit-empowered love.

He warns against self-deception and the folly of comparing oneself only to others rather than testing one’s own work, and states the enduring agricultural principle: "whatever one sows, that will he also reap." Sowing to the flesh reaps corruption; sowing to the Spirit reaps eternal life — and Paul urges the Galatians not to grow weary in doing good, for in due season they will reap if they do not give up.

The letter’s closing lines, written in Paul’s own large handwriting, return one final time to the controversy that prompted the whole letter — those pushing circumcision want only to make a good showing in the flesh and to avoid persecution for the cross of Christ — before Paul boasts only in the cross, "by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world," and pronounces peace and mercy on all who walk by this rule.

Proverbs 23:10–18 — The counsel returns to protecting the vulnerable: do not move an ancient landmark or enter the fields of the fatherless, for their Redeemer is strong and will plead their cause against you — a warning grounded in God’s own advocacy for the defenseless.

The passage then turns to parental discipline, urging that a child not be withheld correction, since striking with a rod will not kill him but will save his soul from Sheol — followed by the tender appeal that a father’s heart will be glad if his son’s heart is wise, and that his own inmost being will exult when the son’s lips speak what is right. The section closes urging that the heart not envy sinners but continue in the fear of the Lord all the day, for surely there is a future, and hope will not be cut off.

Together

Isaiah’s tender turn — "comfort, comfort my people" — and Paul’s exhortation to "bear one another’s burdens" both describe a community shaped not by harsh demand but by gentle restoration. The prophet speaks comfort to a people whose warfare is ended; Paul instructs the Galatians to restore a fallen brother gently, watching their own vulnerability rather than standing in cold judgment over his.

Proverbs’ warning against moving the fatherless child’s boundary, paired with its picture of a father’s heart made glad by a wise son, holds together the same two notes: protection of the vulnerable and patient investment in another’s growth — themes that Isaiah’s comfort and Paul’s burden-bearing both embody on a larger scale.

The application is to ask who around us needs Isaiah’s tender comfort or Paul’s gentle restoration rather than harsh correction, and to remember, with Proverbs, that hope for genuine change is not cut off — whether we are the one waiting to renew our strength like an eagle, or the one called to bear a neighbor’s burden until they can fly again.

September 22, 2026

Isaiah 41:1–42:25 / Ephesians 1:1–23 / Psalm 109:21–31

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Isaiah 41:1–42:25 — The Lord summons the coastlands to judgment, asking who has stirred up one from the east, calling him in righteousness to his service — a reference to Cyrus, whose rise will be explicitly named in later chapters, presented here as proof that the Lord alone declares the end from the beginning, unlike the powerless idols the nations trust. Israel is comforted directly: "Fear not, for I am with you… I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand" — some of the most direct assurances of divine presence in the entire book.

Chapter 42 introduces the first of Isaiah’s celebrated Servant Songs: "Behold my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my Spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations." This servant will not cry aloud or break a bruised reed or quench a faintly burning wick, bringing justice with gentleness rather than force, and will be given "as a covenant for the people, a light for the nations, to open the eyes that are blind." The Gospel of Matthew later applies this very passage directly to Jesus’s ministry.

The chapter closes in stark contrast, addressing Israel as the Lord’s servant who is blind and deaf despite having seen much, plundered and looted because of sin — the ideal Servant of verses 1–9 stands in deliberate tension with the failed servant Israel has actually been, a tension the book will continue to explore as it moves toward a servant who succeeds where the nation could not.

Ephesians 1:1–23 — Paul opens with an extended, single-sentence doxology in the Greek, blessing the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, choosing us in him before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless, predestining us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace.

The blessing continues through redemption through Christ’s blood, the forgiveness of sins, and the mystery of God’s will made known — to unite all things in Christ, things in heaven and things on earth — and extends to believers’ sealing with the promised Holy Spirit, the guarantee of their inheritance until they acquire possession of it, to the praise of his glory. The scope moves from eternity past to the consummation of all things, with believers caught up in the middle of this vast redemptive plan.

Paul’s prayer that follows asks that the Ephesians’ hearts be enlightened to know the hope to which they are called, the riches of God’s glorious inheritance in the saints, and the immeasurable greatness of his power toward those who believe — the same power that raised Christ from the dead and seated him far above all rule and authority, with all things placed under his feet, and Christ given as head over all things to the church, his body, "the fullness of him who fills all in all."

Psalm 109:21–31 — David returns to petition in the midst of his suffering — poor and needy, his heart pierced within him, passing like a shadow, shaken off like a locust — a physical description of affliction so severe he can barely stand, his body thin and gaunt from fasting.

Yet the psalm turns decisively toward confidence: "Help me, O Lord my God! Save me according to your steadfast love!" — trusting that the Lord stands at the right hand of the needy to save him from those who condemn his soul, and closing with a vow to give great thanks to the Lord with his mouth, praising him in the midst of a great throng.

Together

Isaiah’s servant, gentle enough not to break a bruised reed, and Ephesians’ vision of believers chosen before the foundation of the world and sealed with the Spirit both describe an initiative that originates entirely outside of human strength or worthiness. The servant does not shout or force; God’s electing love in Ephesians precedes any human choice or merit whatsoever.

David’s psalm, praying from a body worn thin by suffering, is the experiential ground level of what both larger texts describe theologically — a person with nothing left to offer, relying entirely on the Lord’s steadfast love to save him, standing at his right hand.

The application is to receive, alongside David, the assurance that God’s help does not depend on our own remaining strength — whether we are gaunt with fasting like the psalmist, blind and deaf like the failed servant Israel, or simply aware of how far short we fall — because the same God who chose us before the foundation of the world and sent a gentle, unbreaking Servant is the one who stands, even now, at the right hand of the needy to save.

September 23, 2026

Isaiah 43:1–44:23 / Ephesians 2:1–22 / Psalm 110:1–7

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Isaiah 43:1–44:23 — The Lord speaks with unusual intimacy: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you… you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you." This is among the most tender declarations of covenant love in the prophets, grounding Israel’s security not in their performance but in God’s own naming and redeeming initiative.

Chapter 44 continues with a promise to pour water on the thirsty land and God’s Spirit on Israel’s offspring, followed by one of the Bible’s most extended and biting satires of idolatry — a man cuts down a tree, uses half for fuel to warm himself and cook his food, and from the other half carves a god, falling down before it and praying, "Deliver me, for you are my god!" The absurdity is drawn out deliberately, exposing the folly of worshiping what one has made with one’s own hands out of the very same log used for firewood.

The chapter closes with the Lord identifying himself as the one who formed Israel from the womb, who alone stretched out the heavens, who frustrates the omens of liars and confirms the word of his servants, and who names Cyrus specifically as his shepherd who will fulfill his purpose — a striking instance of predictive prophecy naming, well before the fact, the very king who would later free Judah from exile.

Ephesians 2:1–22 — Paul describes humanity’s condition before Christ in the starkest possible terms: dead in trespasses and sins, following the course of this world and the prince of the power of the air, by nature children of wrath. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, made us alive together with Christ even when we were dead — "by grace you have been saved" — raised us up and seated us with him in the heavenly places, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.

The famous summary follows: "For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast." Believers are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand — good works as the fruit of salvation, never its root.

The chapter’s second half turns to reconciliation between Jew and Gentile, once separated, strangers to the covenants of promise, but now brought near by the blood of Christ, who is our peace, breaking down the dividing wall of hostility, creating one new humanity in place of the two, reconciling both to God in one body through the cross. Gentile believers are no longer strangers and aliens but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone, growing into a holy temple in the Lord.

Psalm 110:1–7 — This royal, messianic psalm opens with the Lord’s declaration to David’s Lord: "Sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies your footstool" — a verse Jesus himself applies to his own identity, and one quoted more often in the New Testament than perhaps any other Old Testament verse.

The psalm continues describing this figure as a priest forever "after the order of Melchizedek," a king who will shatter kings on the day of his wrath and judge among the nations — language the book of Hebrews will later develop at length to explain Christ’s unique priesthood, combining royal and priestly authority in a single person in a way no ordinary Israelite king or priest ever could.

Together

Isaiah’s tender "I have called you by name, you are mine," Ephesians’ description of being made alive when we were dead, and Psalm 110’s picture of the enthroned priest-king together trace the same movement from helplessness to honor. None of the three depicts a worthy candidate earning a reward; each depicts God reaching down into death, exile, or idolatrous folly to accomplish what the recipient could never accomplish alone.

The cornerstone imagery of Ephesians 2, where Jew and Gentile become one new humanity built on Christ, is the New Testament’s fulfillment of exactly the kind of reconciled worship among the nations that Isaiah has been gesturing toward throughout this section of the book, and it rests entirely on the priestly, kingly work of the very figure Psalm 110 describes seated at God’s right hand.

The application is to let these three texts correct any lingering sense that our standing before God depends on our own worth: we are called by name not because we are impressive, made alive not because we contributed to our own resurrection, and brought near as fellow citizens not because we built the wall down ourselves — Christ, our peace and our cornerstone, has already done it.

Week 37 — Table of Contents

• September 10, 2026
• September 11, 2026
• September 12, 2026
• September 13, 2026
• September 14, 2026
• September 15, 2026
• September 16, 2026

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September 10, 2026

Isaiah 8:11–10:19 / 2 Corinthians 11:16–33 / Psalm 106:32–39

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Isaiah 8:11–10:19 — The oracle opens with a summons to a different kind of fear: while the nation panics over the Syro-Ephraimite alliance, the prophet is told not to walk in the way of this people but to fear the Lord alone, letting him be either sanctuary or stumbling stone. Isaiah is commanded to bind up the testimony and seal the teaching among his disciples, entrusting truth to a small remnant when the wider nation will not receive it — a pattern of faithful minorities that runs the length of Scripture.

Out of this darkness breaks one of the most luminous promises in the Old Testament. To a people walking in deep darkness a great light dawns; a child is born, a son is given, and the government rests on his shoulders. The throne names — Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace — pile up in a way no merely human king could bear, and the zeal of the Lord of hosts, not human effort, guarantees the everlasting increase of his government and peace on David’s throne. Isaiah does not yet fully explain how; he simply announces that it will be.

The oracle then turns back to the darkness it interrupted. Ephraim’s pride and stubbornness of heart draw a fourfold judgment, each stanza closing with the refrain "for all this his anger is not turned away, his hand is stretched out still." The repetition is deliberate — a drumbeat announcing that partial judgments have not produced repentance, and that greater judgment is still coming.

The chapter closes with Assyria named as the rod of God’s anger, the club of his fury, sent against a godless nation. Yet Assyria means to destroy many nations for its own ambition, not knowing it is merely an instrument in a hand greater than its own — and for that arrogance, the rod itself will be broken. God’s sovereignty over history includes sovereignty over the very empires he uses as agents of discipline.

2 Corinthians 11:16–33 — Paul begins this section almost apologetically, admitting that what he is about to do is not "as the Lord would," but as a fool, because the Corinthians have tolerated boastful false apostles and Paul must meet them on their own ground to protect a church he loves. The irony is sharp: he is forced into self-promotion by people who should have defended him instead.

But when Paul "boasts," he inverts the entire category. Where the false apostles doubtless paraded pedigree and eloquence, Paul recites imprisonments, five beatings of thirty-nine lashes, three shipwrecks, a night and day adrift at sea, and dangers from rivers, robbers, his own countrymen, Gentiles, the wilderness, and false brothers. His resume of apostolic authority is a catalog of suffering, not triumph — because for Paul, suffering endured for Christ’s church is itself the credential.

The chapter ends almost comically with Paul lowered in a basket through a window in the Damascus wall to escape capture — a deliberately undignified image for a man who has just listed astonishing hardships. It anticipates the thesis he will state explicitly in chapter 12: that God’s power is displayed precisely in human weakness, not despite it.

Psalm 106:32–39 — The psalm recalls the waters of Meribah, where the people’s rebellion provoked Moses to speak rashly, so that even Israel’s greatest mediator suffered for the sins of the people he led — a sober reminder that leadership carries exposure to the failures of those being led.

The psalm’s confession darkens further: Israel failed to destroy the peoples as commanded, mingled with the nations, learned their practices, and served their idols, even to the horror of sacrificing sons and daughters to demons. The land itself was polluted with blood. It is an unflinching self-indictment, the kind of national confession that refuses to soften Israel’s history into something more flattering than it was.

Together

Each reading today faces darkness without minimizing it, and each finds light breaking in from beyond human effort. Isaiah names Judah’s fear and Ephraim’s pride honestly, then interrupts the indictment with the announcement of a child whose government will never end — a light that does not depend on Israel’s improvement but on the zeal of the Lord himself. The child of chapter 9 is the answer to the corruption of chapter 8, not its reward.

Paul’s catalog of suffering and Israel’s catalog of sin might seem worlds apart — one is faithfulness under fire, the other faithlessness under blessing — but both readings insist that human strength, whether moral or rhetorical, is not the currency of God’s kingdom. Paul’s credentials are wounds; Israel’s history is failure honestly told. In both cases, the text refuses to let the reader admire human achievement as the ground of hope.

That leaves only one true ground: the Lord who binds up his testimony among a faithful remnant, who breaks the very rod he lifts in judgment, and whose power is perfected not in impressive resumes but in weakness willingly borne. The application is to stop building a case for ourselves — whether through achievement or through self-justifying comparison — and instead to rest in the child whose shoulders alone can bear the weight of an everlasting kingdom.

September 11, 2026

Isaiah 10:20–13:22 / 2 Corinthians 12:1–10 / Psalm 106:40–48

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Isaiah 10:20–13:22 — The passage opens with a tender promise folded into judgment: a remnant of Jacob will return, leaning not on the one who struck them but truly on the Lord. The remnant theology that has been building since chapter 1 comes into sharper focus — judgment will fall, but it will not be total, and those who survive will have learned to trust rightly rather than merely to survive.

Chapter 11 then delivers one of Scripture’s great messianic portraits. A shoot will come from the stump of Jesse — not from the reigning royal line, which will be cut down like a felled tree, but from its buried root. The Spirit of the Lord will rest on him: wisdom, understanding, counsel, might, knowledge, and the fear of the Lord. He will judge the poor with righteousness and strike the earth with the word of his mouth, and under his reign the wolf will dwell with the lamb — creation itself reordered around his peace, the knowledge of the Lord covering the earth as the waters cover the sea.

Chapter 12 answers this vision with song: "Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid." The remnant that leans on the Lord in chapter 10 becomes, by chapter 12, a people who draw water joyfully from the wells of salvation and make his deeds known among the nations. Judgment’s proper end is not despair but worship.

Chapters 11 continued and 13 pivot outward to the oracles against the nations, beginning with Babylon — the empire that Judah does not yet fear but one day will. The day of the Lord is described in cosmic, unraveling terms: stars withholding their light, the earth shaken from its place. Babylon, for all its splendor, will become like Sodom and Gomorrah, uninhabited ruins. The God who raises up a remnant for Jacob is the same God who topples empires that exalt themselves against him.

2 Corinthians 12:1–10 — Paul reluctantly recounts a vision of the third heaven, careful to speak of it in the third person and to insist he will not boast in it, because visions and revelations, however real, are not the ground of his authority or of anyone’s spiritual standing. The restraint is itself instructive in an age eager to trade on spiritual experiences.

To keep him from being conceited over these revelations, Paul is given a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass him. He asks the Lord three times to remove it, and receives not removal but an answer that reorients the entire question: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Whatever the thorn was, its purpose was formative, not merely punitive.

Paul’s response is the theological center of the letter: he will boast all the more gladly of his weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon him. He is content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, and persecutions for Christ’s sake, because when he is weak, then he is strong. This is not resignation but a deliberate embrace of the pattern of the cross as the shape of Christian strength.

Psalm 106:40–48 — The psalm’s history of rebellion culminates in exile — God gave his people into the hand of the nations, and those who hated them ruled over them. Yet even here, the psalmist records that God looked upon their distress when he heard their cry, remembered his covenant, and relented according to the abundance of his steadfast love. Judgment and mercy are not opposites in this psalm but sequential acts of the same covenant faithfulness.

The psalm closes as a prayer: "Save us, O Lord our God, and gather us from among the nations." It is fitting that a psalm cataloging centuries of failure ends not in despair but in petition, trusting that the God who has been patient before will be merciful again.

Together

The remnant theology of Isaiah, the thorn theology of Paul, and the exile-and-mercy theology of the psalm all converge on a single insight: God’s power is most visible not in unbroken strength but in what survives, or is given, after weakness. The remnant that leans on the Lord in Isaiah 10 does so precisely because it has been humbled past leaning on itself; the shoot from Jesse’s stump grows from what looked like death, not from an unbroken royal line.

Paul’s thorn functions the same way in his own life. Stripped of the ability to boast in visions or unbroken strength, he discovers that Christ’s power is not hindered by weakness but perfected through it. The psalmist’s Israel, having exhausted every excuse for its own faithfulness, is left only with the cry for mercy — and finds that cry answered.

The application is not to seek weakness for its own sake, but to stop resisting it when it comes, and to expect that God’s power will be found precisely where our own resources run out. Whether the reader’s "thorn" is a physical affliction, a besetting weakness, or simply the humbling record of past failure, today’s readings insist that such places are not obstacles to grace but its ordinary dwelling place.

September 12, 2026

Isaiah 14:1–16:14 / 2 Corinthians 12:11–21 / Psalm 107:1–9

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Isaiah 14:1–16:14 — The oracle against Babylon concludes with a taunt song placed in the mouth of the nations, mocking the fallen king who said in his heart, "I will make myself like the Most High," and is instead brought down to Sheol. Many interpreters have heard in this proud boast an echo of the deeper pride behind every human empire and every heart that seeks to displace God — pride’s trajectory is always downward, however high it first climbs.

The prophecy then turns to Assyria and to Philistia, both warned that their present advantage is temporary and that the Lord who purposed to break Assyria in his own land has a plan that stands, for who can annul what the Lord of hosts has purposed?

Moab receives an extended, almost mournful oracle across chapters 15 and 16 — a catalog of cities in panic, refugees fleeing, the prophet himself weeping "with the weeping of Jazer." Even in pronouncing judgment on a historic enemy, the text allows for genuine sorrow, refusing to treat judgment as occasion for gloating. The oracle closes with a note that within three years Moab’s glory will be brought into contempt — a specific, time-bound word underscoring that these are not vague poetic threats but real historical pronouncements.

2 Corinthians 12:11–21 — Paul again apologizes for having to commend himself, insisting he is not inferior to the "super-apostles" even though he is nothing — the signs of a true apostle were performed among the Corinthians with utmost patience, signs and wonders and mighty works. His irritation is less about status than about the Corinthians’ failure to recognize what they themselves witnessed.

He raises, almost wounded, the question of why he refused to be a financial burden to them, wondering aloud whether this very refusal is being held against him as though it proved he did not love them. The passage reveals how easily sacrificial love can be misread as a slight when the recipients are not attentive to the giver’s heart.

Paul closes with genuine fear — that when he comes he may find quarreling, jealousy, anger, selfishness, and disorder, and that he may have to mourn over those who have sinned and not repented. The apostle’s authority, for all his defense of it, is finally in service of pastoral grief, not self-vindication; he would rather find them changed than be proven right.

Psalm 107:1–9 — A new hymn opens the psalm’s final major section: "Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever." The redeemed of the Lord are told to say so — gratitude here is not private feeling but public testimony gathered "from the lands, from the east and from the west, from the north and from the south."

The first of the psalm’s four vignettes follows: wanderers lost in desert wastes, hungry and thirsty, their soul fainting within them, who cried to the Lord in their trouble and were led by a straight way to a city to dwell in. The refrain — "let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love" — will recur through the psalm as a structural heartbeat, tying every rescued group’s story to the same source of deliverance.

Together

Isaiah’s taunt against the fallen king of Babylon and Paul’s anxious self-defense before the Corinthians are, on the surface, very different kinds of pride and its opposite. But both readings expose how pride distorts perception — the king of Babylon imagined himself ascending to heaven even as he was descending to Sheol, and the Corinthians, dazzled by showmanship, mistook Paul’s sacrificial restraint for weakness rather than love.

The psalm supplies the corrective posture for both errors: gratitude that looks outward and names God, rather than inward toward one’s own status or accomplishment. The wanderers of Psalm 107 have nothing to boast of — they were simply lost and were found, hungry and were fed — and their only fitting response is thanksgiving.

The application today is to examine where pride or misplaced judgment has crept into how we assess ourselves or others — whether by achievement, by public perception, or by comparison — and to return instead to the plain gratitude of the redeemed: not "look what I have done" but "he led me by a straight way, and his steadfast love endures forever."

September 13, 2026

Isaiah 17:1–19:25 / 2 Corinthians 13:1–14 / Proverbs 22:17–27

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Isaiah 17:1–19:25 — The oracle against Damascus is bound together with a companion oracle against Ephraim, since Syria and the northern kingdom had allied themselves against Judah; both will be humbled together, their fortress cities forsaken like the abandoned places of the Canaanites before Israel. Even so, a remnant motif appears again — a gleaning left as when an olive tree is beaten, two or three berries left on the topmost branch — the pattern of severe judgment tempered by preserved hope continues to run through these chapters.

Cush receives a briefer oracle, its tall and smooth-skinned people described almost admiringly before the prophecy turns toward their eventual submission and gift-bringing to Zion — a hint of the nations’ future incorporation into worship of the Lord that will be developed more fully later in the book.

The Egypt oracle in chapter 19 is unusually extensive and takes a striking turn: after describing Egypt’s political chaos and the Lord’s judgment on its idols, the passage envisions a day when Egypt will worship the Lord alongside Israel, when there will be a highway from Egypt to Assyria, and Egypt, Assyria, and Israel will be called "my people," "the work of my hands," and "my inheritance" together. Ancient rivals become, in this vision, a single worshiping family — one of the most expansive statements of God’s purpose for the nations in the entire Old Testament.

2 Corinthians 13:1–14 — Paul closes the letter with a warning of coming discipline: he will not spare those still unrepentant when he arrives, because Christ, though crucified in weakness, lives by the power of God, and Paul’s own weakness in dealing with them will likewise be matched by God’s power when he acts.

He urges the Corinthians to examine themselves, to test whether they are in the faith, reminding them that Christ is in them unless they fail the test. The call to self-examination is pastoral rather than punitive — Paul would rather they judge themselves rightly now than face a harder reckoning when he arrives.

The letter closes with a prayer for their restoration, comfort, and unity, and with the full trinitarian benediction that has become one of the most familiar blessings in the church: "The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all." After chapters of painful, defensive argument, the letter ends not in triumph over opponents but in tender hope for reconciliation.

Proverbs 22:17–27 — This passage marks a transition in the book of Proverbs, introducing a fresh collection — "the words of the wise" — with an appeal to incline the ear and apply the heart, so that trust may be in the Lord rather than in uncertain circumstances.

Among the counsel that follows: do not rob the poor because he is poor, for the Lord will plead their cause; do not associate with a man given to anger; do not put up security for another’s debts, lest your very bed be taken from under you. The wisdom here is consistently protective — of the vulnerable poor, of one’s own household, and of relationships that anger or rash guarantees can quickly destroy.

Together

Isaiah’s vision of Egypt, Assyria, and Israel united in worship is a picture of reconciliation on the largest possible scale — ancient enemies made one people under one God. Paul’s closing appeal to the Corinthians, however much smaller in scope, moves in the same direction: not victory over an opposing faction within the church, but restoration, unity, and full agreement among people who had become estranged from their own apostle and from each other.

Proverbs’ counsel to guard the vulnerable, avoid volatile company, and refuse rash entanglements reads almost as practical instruction for how such reconciliation is protected day to day — wisdom is what keeps a community from fracturing before it ever gets the chance to be reconciled on the scale Isaiah envisions.

The application is to hold together God’s grand purpose for reconciled nations and the small daily wisdom that makes reconciled relationships possible — to pray, with Isaiah, for a day when former enemies worship together, to test our own hearts, with Paul, before we test others, and to practice, with Proverbs, the ordinary carefulness that keeps love from being undone by anger, greed, or rash commitment.

September 14, 2026

Isaiah 20:1–23:18 / Galatians 1:1–24 / Psalm 107:10–22

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Isaiah 20:1–23:18 — Isaiah is commanded to walk stripped and barefoot for three years as a living sign against Egypt and Cush, a strange and costly enacted prophecy warning Judah not to trust these nations against Assyria — the prophet’s own body becomes the message, a reminder that biblical prophecy is often embodied, not merely spoken.

The "oracle concerning the wilderness of the sea" announces Babylon’s fall in vivid, almost hallucinatory imagery — a watchman posted, waiting, who cries out "Fallen, fallen is Babylon" — an oracle whose language will echo centuries later in Revelation’s own announcement of Babylon’s fall.

Chapter 22, the "oracle concerning the valley of vision," turns unexpectedly inward toward Jerusalem itself, rebuking the city’s reckless feasting in the face of coming disaster — "let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die" — and singling out the steward Shebna for a personal judgment, to be replaced by Eliakim, who will be given "the key of the house of David," a phrase later applied to Christ in Revelation 3:7.

The oracle against Tyre closes the section, describing the collapse of a great trading empire, yet ending with an unusual note of restoration after seventy years, when Tyre’s profits will be "holiness to the Lord" — even a pagan commercial city’s wealth is imagined as eventually being consecrated to God’s purposes.

Galatians 1:1–24 — Paul opens with unusual force for a letter greeting: no thanksgiving, but immediate alarm that the Galatians are so quickly deserting the one who called them for a different gospel — which is not another gospel at all, but a distortion. He pronounces a curse on anyone, even an angel, who preaches a different gospel than the one already received.

He then defends the origin of his gospel at length: it did not come from man, nor was he taught it, but it came through a revelation of Jesus Christ. His account of his own former life — persecuting the church violently, advancing in Judaism beyond his peers — makes the contrast with his conversion all the sharper; grace called him "who was set apart before I was born," not because of merit but by God’s sovereign choice.

Paul’s insistence that he did not immediately consult with the Jerusalem apostles, but went to Arabia and only later visited Peter briefly, is not incidental biography but part of his argument: his gospel’s authority rests on direct revelation, not human transmission, and therefore cannot be altered by human authorities — including, implicitly, the false teachers now troubling Galatia.

Psalm 107:10–22 — The psalm’s second vignette describes prisoners sitting in darkness and gloom, bound in affliction and iron because they rebelled against God’s words — a picture of consequence, not merely misfortune. Yet when they cried to the Lord, he brought them out of darkness and burst their bonds apart.

The third vignette follows immediately: fools suffering affliction because of their sinful ways, loathing all food, drawing near to the gates of death — until they too cry out and are healed, God sending forth his word and delivering them from destruction. Both vignettes insist that even self-inflicted suffering is not beyond the reach of God’s rescuing word, and both close with the same refrain of thanksgiving and sacrifice of praise.

Together

Isaiah’s rebuke of Jerusalem’s reckless feasting and Paul’s alarm at the Galatians’ quick desertion share a common anxiety: people who should know better drifting toward disaster with startling ease, whether through complacency or through susceptibility to a different message. Both texts respond not with despair but with urgent, direct confrontation, because the stakes of drifting are real.

Psalm 107’s prisoners and fools, however, show what happens on the other side of that drift — bound by consequences of their own rebellion, yet not beyond rescue when they finally cry out. The psalm does not pretend their suffering was undeserved; it simply insists that God’s steadfast love reaches even self-caused darkness.

The application is to take spiritual drift seriously, as Isaiah and Paul both do, while also trusting, as the psalmist does, that no distance traveled in that drift — not exile, not bondage, not a gospel nearly abandoned — is too far for the God whose word can burst bonds and heal what sin has broken, if only we will cry out to him.

September 15, 2026

Isaiah 24:1–26:21 / Galatians 2:1–10 / Psalm 107:23–32

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Isaiah 24:1–26:21 — These three chapters, often called Isaiah’s "little apocalypse," step back from oracles against particular nations to describe a judgment over the whole earth: the earth laid waste, its inhabitants scattered because they have broken the everlasting covenant. The scope is deliberately cosmic — not one nation’s fall but the world’s moral order unraveling under the weight of pervasive sin.

Chapter 25 answers this devastation with one of the most hope-filled passages in the prophets: on this mountain the Lord will make a feast of rich food for all peoples, and he will swallow up death forever, wiping away tears from every face. Paul later echoes this very promise in 1 Corinthians 15, and it stands as one of the clearest Old Testament anticipations of the resurrection and the final defeat of death itself.

Chapter 26 continues in the same register — "in that day this song will be sung," a song of a strong city with salvation for walls and bulwarks, trusting in the Lord because "he is an everlasting rock." Verse 19 offers an unusually explicit statement of bodily resurrection hope: "Your dead shall live; their bodies shall rise… the earth will give birth to the dead." Even amid cosmic judgment, the prophet’s imagination reaches toward a hope that judgment cannot finally cancel.

Galatians 2:1–10 — Paul recounts a private meeting in Jerusalem with the recognized leaders of the church, where he laid out the gospel he preached among the Gentiles, refusing to yield even for a moment to those who wanted Titus, a Gentile, to be circumcised — the truth of the gospel itself, not merely church politics, was at stake in that refusal.

Rather than correcting or supplementing his message, the Jerusalem leaders — James, Peter, and John, described as pillars — recognized the grace given to Paul and extended the right hand of fellowship, agreeing that Paul and Barnabas would go to the Gentiles while they continued primarily among the Jews. The only additional request was to remember the poor, something Paul says he was already eager to do.

This account matters for Paul’s larger argument: his gospel was not only independently revealed but also affirmed, not amended, by the highest human authorities in the early church — undercutting any claim that circumcision was necessary for Gentile believers.

Psalm 107:23–32 — The psalm’s fourth vignette turns to sailors, who go down to the sea in ships and see the works of the Lord in the deep — his command raising a stormy wind that lifts the waves to heaven and back down to the depths, until the sailors’ courage melts and they reel like drunkards, at their wits’ end.

When they cry to the Lord, he stills the storm to a whisper, hushing the waves, and brings them to their desired haven. The vignette closes urging them to extol the Lord in the congregation of the people and praise him in the assembly of the elders — deliverance is again meant to be publicly narrated, not privately forgotten.

Together

Isaiah’s cosmic judgment and resurrection hope, Paul’s defense of a gospel that needed no human addition, and the sailors’ terror and rescue at sea all share a single shape: overwhelming crisis met by a word from the Lord that changes everything. The earth’s judgment in Isaiah 24 gives way to the swallowed-up death of Isaiah 25; the sailors’ storm gives way to the Lord’s stilling whisper; even Paul’s tense confrontation in Jerusalem resolves into the right hand of fellowship.

None of these resolutions come from human effort escalating to meet the crisis — not the sailors’ skill, not Paul’s negotiating, not humanity’s capacity to fix a broken covenant. In every case, the turn comes when someone cries out and the Lord answers.

The application is to notice where we are currently in the storm, in the negotiation, in the judgment not yet resolved — and to do what Isaiah’s song, Paul’s gospel, and the sailors all model: cry out to the one whose word can still the sea and swallow up death, trusting him to bring the resolution that our own strength cannot produce.

September 16, 2026

Isaiah 27:1–28:29 / Galatians 2:11–3:9 / Psalm 107:33–43

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Isaiah 27:1–28:29 — Chapter 27 opens with the promise that the Lord will punish Leviathan, the twisting serpent, with his hard and great sword — cosmic evil itself is not beyond his reach — and pairs this with the tender image of Israel as a vineyard the Lord waters and guards continually, keeping watch night and day so that no one may harm it, a striking reversal of the vineyard’s earlier destruction in chapter 5.

Chapter 28 opens with a woe against the proud crown of Ephraim’s drunkards, whose glory will fade like a fading flower, and extends the woe to Judah’s own leaders — priests and prophets who reel with strong drink and stumble in judgment. The famous cornerstone passage follows: "Behold, I am the one who has laid as a foundation in Zion, a stone, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone, of a sure foundation: ‘Whoever believes will not be in haste.’" Peter and Paul both later apply this stone directly to Christ, the sure foundation that human "covenant with death" cannot replace.

The chapter closes with an agricultural parable — the farmer who plows, harrows, and threshes in different ways at different times, guided by wisdom from the Lord — an image for how God’s discipline, too, is calibrated with wisdom rather than applied indiscriminately, "for he is wonderful in counsel and excellent in wisdom."

Galatians 2:11–3:9 — Paul recounts a sharp public confrontation with Peter at Antioch, who had eaten freely with Gentile believers until men from James arrived, after which Peter withdrew out of fear of the circumcision party — hypocrisy so consequential that even Barnabas was led astray by it. Paul’s public rebuke of Peter shows that the gospel’s truth outweighs even the highest apostolic reputation when that reputation compromises gospel unity.

From this incident Paul states his central thesis: a person is not justified by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ, "so we also have believed in Christ Jesus, in order to be justified by faith in Christ and not by works of the law, because by works of the law no one will be justified." This is the doctrinal hinge of the entire letter.

Turning to the Galatians directly, Paul asks with evident exasperation whether they received the Spirit by works of the law or by hearing with faith, and appeals to Abraham — who believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness — as proof that the sons of Abraham are those who share Abraham’s faith, Gentiles included, since Scripture foresaw that God would justify the Gentiles by faith and preached the gospel beforehand to Abraham.

Psalm 107:33–43 — The psalm shifts from individual rescues to a broader meditation on reversal: the Lord turns rivers into a desert and fruitful land into salty waste because of the wickedness of those who dwell there, yet also turns a desert into pools of water, settling the hungry there to found a city, sow fields, and plant vineyards that yield a fruitful harvest.

The psalm’s closing verses widen the lens further still: the Lord pours contempt on princes and makes them wander in trackless wastes, while raising the needy out of affliction. The upright see it and are glad; the wise attend to these things and consider the steadfast love of the Lord — the whole psalm ends as an invitation to interpretive attention, urging the reader to see history itself as the record of God’s covenant faithfulness.

Together

The cornerstone of Isaiah 28 — a tested, sure foundation on which the one who believes will not be in haste — anticipates exactly what Paul argues in Galatians: that righteousness is not achieved by frantic human effort but received by resting faith in what God himself has laid down. Peter’s withdrawal from Gentile fellowship, ironically, was a return to the very "haste" and self-securing anxiety that Isaiah’s cornerstone was meant to end.

Psalm 107’s closing reversals — deserts becoming pools, princes brought low, the needy raised up — dramatize the same principle on the scale of history: human status and human striving do not determine who ends up flourishing; the Lord’s covenant love does. Abraham himself, the psalm’s spiritual ancestor in this regard, is Paul’s prime example of a man counted righteous not for what he built but for what he believed.

The application is to notice any "haste" in our own lives — any anxious self-securing, whether through legalistic performance like the Galatians’, or through fear of losing status like Peter’s — and to return instead to the sure foundation: faith resting on what Christ has already accomplished, the only foundation of which Isaiah could say, whoever believes will not be in haste.

Week 36 — Table of Contents

• September 3, 2026
• September 4, 2026
• September 5, 2026
• September 6, 2026
• September 7, 2026
• September 8, 2026
• September 9, 2026

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September 3, 2026

Ecclesiastes 7:1–9:12; 2 Corinthians 6:3–7:1; Psalm 105:12–22

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Ecclesiastes 7:1–9:12
The Preacher offers a collection of sober proverbs that prize wisdom over folly and depth over distraction. A good name is better than precious ointment, and the day of death better than the day of birth; it is better to go to the house of mourning than the house of feasting, for the living should take to heart that death is the end of all. Sorrow is better than laughter, and the heart of the wise is in the house of mourning — not because the Preacher is morbid, but because facing mortality honestly produces wisdom, while endless distraction does not.

He counsels a balanced realism in a crooked world. Wisdom gives shelter like money does, but with the advantage that it preserves the life of the one who has it; do not be overly righteous or overly wicked, but fear God and avoid extremes. He confesses the limits of his search: he sought wisdom but found it far off and deep, and discovered that God made man upright, but they have sought out many schemes. The honest conclusion is that no one fully comprehends the work of God, however hard the wise try.

Chapters 8 and 9 wrestle again with life’s deepest frustration: the same fate comes to all. The righteous and the wicked, the good and the evil, the one who sacrifices and the one who does not, all alike die — and this troubles the Preacher deeply. He has seen the wicked buried with honor and the righteous forgotten, and so he commends enjoying the gifts of God in the meantime: eat your bread with joy, drink your wine with a merry heart, enjoy life with the one you love, and do your work with might, for in the grave there is no working or knowing. Yet he ends this section soberly — time and chance happen to all, and no one knows his hour. The repeated counsel to enjoy God’s gifts is not hedonism but the Preacher’s way of receiving each fleeting day as grace, while still fearing the God who holds the times no one can predict.

2 Corinthians 6:3–7:1
Paul commends his ministry by its endurance through hardship rather than its ease. He puts no obstacle in anyone’s way, but commends himself in every way — through great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, beatings, imprisonments, sleepless nights, and hunger, yet also by purity, patience, kindness, the Holy Spirit, genuine love, truthful speech, and the power of God. He describes the paradoxes of the gospel servant: treated as an impostor yet true, as unknown yet well known, as dying yet alive, as sorrowful yet always rejoicing, as poor yet making many rich, as having nothing yet possessing everything. The list is a portrait of faithfulness that does not depend on circumstances.

Paul then opens his heart to the Corinthians with vulnerable affection: his heart is wide open to them, and he asks them to widen their own hearts in return. He has held nothing back; the only restriction in the relationship is in their own affections. It is a moving appeal from a wounded but loving pastor who longs for full reconciliation with a difficult church.

He follows with a call to wholehearted devotion, warning against being unequally yoked with unbelievers, for what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness, or light with darkness, or Christ with Belial? Believers are the temple of the living God, who promised to dwell among them and be their God. Therefore, Paul urges, come out and be separate, and God will be a Father to you. Since we have these promises, let us cleanse ourselves from every defilement of body and spirit, bringing holiness to completion in the fear of God. The privilege of being God’s dwelling carries the call to a holiness that touches everything.

Psalm 105:12–22
The psalm continues recounting God’s covenant faithfulness, now tracing the patriarchs’ wanderings. When they were few in number, strangers in the land, wandering from nation to nation, God allowed no one to oppress them and rebuked even kings for their sake, saying, touch not my anointed ones, do my prophets no harm. The vulnerable, wandering family was guarded by the unseen hand of God.

The psalm then turns to Joseph, summarizing his story as evidence of God’s providential care: God summoned a famine and sent a man ahead of them, Joseph, who was sold as a slave, his feet hurt with fetters and his neck in irons, until the time his word came true and the word of the LORD tested him. Then the king released him, the ruler of peoples set him free, and made him lord of his house and ruler over all his possessions. The deep providence that worked through Joseph’s suffering to preserve God’s people is held up as a pattern of how the covenant God works, often through hidden and painful means, to keep his promises.

Together
Facing mortality, holding to holiness, and trusting God’s hidden providence tie the day together. The Preacher counsels facing death honestly while receiving each fleeting day as God’s gift; Paul commends a ministry that endures every hardship and calls believers to wholehearted holiness as God’s dwelling; Psalm 105 recounts how God guarded his wandering people and worked through Joseph’s suffering to preserve them. In each, faithfulness is lived out soberly and wholeheartedly in a world where God’s purposes are often hidden.

The connecting truth is that wisdom faces reality honestly — death, hardship, and the long, hidden work of God — and responds with reverent, wholehearted devotion. The Preacher’s honesty about death drives him to fear God and receive his gifts; Paul’s honesty about hardship is matched by his call to bring holiness to completion in the fear of God; the psalm’s account of Joseph shows that God’s faithfulness often works through suffering we cannot understand at the time. Clear-eyed realism and devoted holiness belong together.

So the application is to live wisely and wholeheartedly before God, facing reality without flinching and trusting his hidden hand. Like the Preacher, let the certainty of death make you wise rather than frantic, and receive your work, your relationships, and your daily bread as gifts from God’s hand. Like Paul, endure hardship faithfully and bring holiness to completion in the fear of God, since you are his dwelling place. And like Psalm 105, trust that the God who guarded a wandering family and worked through Joseph’s fetters is faithfully working out his covenant purposes through whatever you cannot yet understand.

September 4, 2026

Ecclesiastes 9:13–12:14; 2 Corinthians 7:2–16; Psalm 105:23–36

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Ecclesiastes 9:13–12:14
The Preacher continues gathering wisdom’s observations, noting how easily it is overlooked: a poor wise man saved a city by his wisdom, yet no one remembered him, for wisdom is better than strength but the poor man’s wisdom is despised. He observes how a little folly can outweigh much wisdom, as dead flies spoil the perfumer’s ointment, and how the diligent and the foolish are revealed in their work and words. The proverbs of these chapters are clear-eyed about a world that does not always reward wisdom as it should.

As the book moves toward its close, the Preacher turns to the young with one of Scripture’s most beautiful and sobering passages. Rejoice, young man, in your youth, walk in the ways of your heart — but know that God will bring you into judgment. And then the great summons: remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come. He paints old age and death in haunting poetic images — the keepers of the house trembling, the strong men bent, the grinders ceasing, the doors shut, the silver cord snapped and the golden bowl broken — before the dust returns to the earth and the spirit returns to God who gave it. Life is a vapor, and the wise will remember their Creator while they still can.

The book ends with its resolving word, the conclusion to which all the searching has led. Vanity of vanities, the Preacher says one last time — and then: the end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man, for God will bring every deed into judgment, including every secret thing, whether good or evil. After surveying the emptiness of life lived under the sun for its own sake, the Preacher lands on the one thing that gives life meaning and accountability: reverent obedience before the God who sees all and will judge all. Apart from God, all is vapor; in the fear of God, life finds its center.

2 Corinthians 7:2–16
Paul resumes his appeal for full reconciliation, assuring the Corinthians that he has wronged, corrupted, and taken advantage of no one. He speaks not to condemn them but out of love so deep that he says they are in his heart, to die together and to live together; he is filled with comfort and overflowing with joy in all his affliction. The wounded relationship is healing, and Paul’s affection pours out.

The cause of his joy is the report Titus brought of the Corinthians’ response to his severe letter. Paul admits he had regretted sending it because it grieved them, but now he rejoices — not that they were grieved, but that they were grieved into repenting. Here he draws his crucial distinction: godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death. Godly sorrow is not mere remorse or self-pity; it turns the heart toward God and bears the fruit of genuine change.

Paul then names the marks that the Corinthians’ grief was godly: it produced in them earnestness, eagerness to clear themselves, indignation at the wrong, longing, zeal, and a readiness to set things right. Their repentance proved itself in action, and Paul’s confidence in them is restored; he rejoices that he can have complete confidence in them. The whole passage is a tender picture of how godly grief mends what sin has broken, leading not to despair but to restoration and renewed joy on both sides.

Psalm 105:23–36
The psalm continues its rehearsal of God’s faithfulness, moving to Israel in Egypt. Jacob’s family came to Egypt, and God made his people fruitful and strong, stronger than their foes, whose hearts he turned to hate his people. Then he sent Moses and Aaron, who performed his signs and wonders among them. The covenant God did not abandon his people in their oppression but raised up deliverers.

The psalm recounts the plagues as God’s mighty acts against Egypt — darkness, the waters turned to blood and the fish dying, frogs swarming the land, flies and gnats, hail and lightning striking down the vines and trees, locusts beyond number devouring every plant, and finally the striking down of all the firstborn, the firstfruits of Egypt’s strength. The God who remembered his covenant with Abraham acted in overwhelming power to bring his people out, demonstrating that no empire could hold what God had purposed to redeem. The recital is meant to fuel praise and trust: the God who did all this is the God of his people still.

Together
The fear of God, godly grief, and the faithful Redeemer tie the day together. The Preacher’s whole search concludes in the call to fear God and keep his commandments before the coming judgment; Paul rejoices that the Corinthians’ godly grief led to genuine repentance and restoration; Psalm 105 recounts how the covenant God redeemed his people from Egypt with mighty acts. In each, right relationship with God is the center that gives life meaning and turns sorrow into salvation.

The connecting truth is that the fear of God is not a grim burden but the doorway to true life, repentance, and redemption. The Preacher discovers that apart from God all is vapor, but in fearing him life finds its center and accountability; Paul shows that grief oriented toward God produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret; the psalm celebrates a God whose covenant faithfulness redeems his people from bondage. To fear God rightly is to be brought, through honest sorrow over sin, into the salvation he provides.

So the application is to make the fear of God the center of life, to let sorrow over sin be godly grief that leads to repentance, and to trust the faithful Redeemer. Like the Preacher’s final word, remember your Creator now, fear God, and keep his commandments, living in light of the judgment in which every secret thing will be revealed. Like the Corinthians, let your grief over sin be godly rather than worldly — turning you toward God and bearing the fruit of real change, not despair. And like Psalm 105, remember that the God you fear is the God who redeems his people with a mighty hand; reverent obedience and joyful trust in the Redeemer belong together.

September 5, 2026

Song of Songs 1:1–4:16; 2 Corinthians 8:1–15; Proverbs 21:27–22:6

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Song of Songs 1:1–4:16
The Song of Songs is unique in Scripture — an unabashed celebration of romantic and married love between a man and a woman, given in lush poetic imagery. It opens with the bride’s longing for her beloved’s affection, her delight in him better than wine, and her frank awareness of her own beauty and her insecurities. The two lovers exchange praise, comparing one another to the finest things — a lily among brambles, an apple tree among the trees of the forest — and the bride speaks the famous refrain urging that love not be awakened until the proper time. The poetry honors the goodness of human love, desire, and beauty as part of God’s good creation, not something to be despised.

The lovers describe the joy of being together, the springtime of their courtship, the longing of absence and the delight of presence. The beloved calls his bride to arise and come away, for the winter is past and the flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come. There is playfulness, pursuit, mutual admiration, and a deep desire for exclusive belonging — my beloved is mine, and I am his. The Song refuses both the cynicism that cheapens love and the asceticism that despises it, presenting the love between husband and wife as something beautiful, powerful, and worthy of celebration.

Across the centuries, believers have also read the Song as a picture, by analogy, of the love between God and his people, and ultimately between Christ and the church — for Scripture itself uses marriage to portray that covenant bond. Whether read as a celebration of the human love God designed or as a window into the divine love that human marriage reflects, the Song testifies that love, desire, and delight are not foreign to faith but woven into the way God made the world and the way he loves his own. The intensity of the lovers’ devotion gives language to the intensity with which God pursues and cherishes his people.

2 Corinthians 8:1–15
Paul turns to the collection for the impoverished saints in Jerusalem, and he motivates generosity not by command but by example and by the gospel. He points first to the Macedonian churches, who in a severe test of affliction and extreme poverty overflowed in a wealth of generosity, giving beyond their means and begging for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints. Their giving flowed from first giving themselves to the Lord — generosity was the fruit of devotion, not duty.

Paul urges the Corinthians, who excel in faith, speech, knowledge, and love, to excel also in this act of grace. He will not command it, but he tests the genuineness of their love against the earnestness of others — and above all against the example of Christ himself: you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich. The supreme motive for generosity is the self-emptying generosity of Christ, who gave up the riches of heaven to enrich us.

Paul presses them to complete the giving they had eagerly begun a year earlier, according to what they have, for the gift is acceptable according to what a person has, not what he does not have. The goal is not that others be eased while they are burdened, but a fairness, that their abundance might supply the need of the poor and, in another season, be supplied in turn. He cites the manna — the one who gathered much had nothing left over, and the one who gathered little had no lack — as a picture of how God’s people are to share so that need is met. Generosity, modeled on Christ and aimed at fairness, is the natural overflow of grace received.

Proverbs 21:27–22:6
The proverbs contrast the worthless sacrifice of the wicked with the value of integrity and a good name. The sacrifice of the wicked is an abomination, especially when brought with evil intent; a false witness will perish, but the one who hears will speak forever. A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches, and favor is better than silver or gold.

The collection sets the rich and poor together under God: the rich and the poor meet together, for the LORD is the Maker of them all. The prudent foresees danger and hides, while the simple go on and suffer; the reward for humility and the fear of the LORD is riches and honor and life. And one of the most-quoted proverbs on raising children: train up a child in the way he should go, and even when he is old he will not depart from it. Wisdom shapes the next generation, and a good name and the fear of the LORD are worth more than wealth.

Together
Love, generosity, and the self-giving grace of Christ tie the day together. The Song celebrates the beauty and intensity of love between husband and wife, an image of covenant devotion; Paul urges generosity grounded in the grace of Christ, who became poor to make us rich; Proverbs prizes a good name and integrity over riches. In each, love and grace overflow in self-giving rather than self-getting.

The connecting truth is that the love God designed and the grace he shows are inherently self-giving, and they call forth the same in us. The Song’s lovers give themselves wholly to one another; Christ gave up the riches of heaven to enrich his people, and that grace becomes the pattern and motive for the Corinthians’ generosity. The intensity of devotion celebrated in the Song and the sacrificial giving Paul commends both reflect a God whose love empties itself for the beloved.

So the application is to let the self-giving love of Christ shape both our devotion and our generosity. Receive the goodness of love and beauty as gifts woven into God’s creation, and let human covenant love point you to the deeper love with which Christ cherishes his church. And let the grace of the Lord Jesus — who though rich became poor for your sake — move you to genuine, sacrificial generosity toward those in need, giving according to what you have, so that need is met and grace overflows. The God who loves with such intensity and gives so freely calls his people to love and give in kind.

September 6, 2026

Song of Songs 5:1–8:14; 2 Corinthians 8:16–9:5; Psalm 105:37–45

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Song of Songs 5:1–8:14
The Song continues through the deepening and testing of the lovers’ relationship. In a dream-like sequence the bride hesitates when her beloved comes to her at night, and when she rises to open to him, he has gone; she searches the city for him, is mistreated by the watchmen, and pleads with others to tell him she is lovesick. The passage captures the ache of love’s absence and the longing of separation, and when the friends ask what makes her beloved so special, she pours out an extended, adoring description of him from head to foot. Love, the Song shows, is not only delight but also longing, searching, and the pain of distance.

The lovers are reunited, and their mutual praise and desire reach new heights, with the beloved extolling the bride’s beauty and the bride declaring again her belonging: I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for me. The Song moves toward its great climax, one of the most profound statements about love in all of Scripture: set me as a seal upon your heart, for love is strong as death, jealousy fierce as the grave; its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the LORD. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it; if a man offered all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned.

This crowning passage lifts the Song from the celebration of a particular couple to a meditation on the nature of love itself. Love is as strong as death — relentless, unquenchable, beyond price, a flame kindled by God himself. Read at the human level, it dignifies married love as one of the most powerful forces God has placed in creation. Read at the higher level, it gives voice to the unquenchable, death-defying love of God for his people, a love that no flood of opposition can drown and that no wealth could ever buy. The Song ends with the lovers still calling to one another, love’s pursuit ongoing, a fitting close to a book that celebrates a love that never lets go.

2 Corinthians 8:16–9:5
Paul handles the practical arrangements for the collection with scrupulous integrity. He is sending Titus, who shares his earnest care for the Corinthians, along with a brother famous among the churches for his gospel work and another tested and earnest brother, so that the substantial gift may be administered honorably. Paul takes pains that no one should blame him about this generous gift, for he aims at what is honorable not only in the Lord’s sight but also in the sight of man. Transparency in handling money is itself a gospel concern.

Paul commends these emissaries warmly — they are messengers of the churches, the glory of Christ — and urges the Corinthians to give them proof of their love before the churches. The careful, accountable handling of the gift, with multiple trusted men overseeing it, models the integrity that should mark all the church’s stewardship of resources entrusted to it.

He then gently presses the Corinthians toward readiness. He has been boasting to the Macedonians about the Corinthians’ eagerness, which had stirred many to give; now he is sending the brothers ahead so that the Corinthians will actually be ready, lest his boasting prove empty and they be humiliated when others arrive to find the gift unprepared. He wants their gift to be ready as a willing gift, not as an exaction. Paul’s pastoral care extends even to sparing them embarrassment, while encouraging them to follow through generously and freely on what they had begun.

Psalm 105:37–45
The psalm brings its recital of God’s faithfulness to its triumphant conclusion in the exodus and beyond. God brought Israel out of Egypt laden with silver and gold, with none among the tribes who stumbled; Egypt was glad when they departed, for the dread of them had fallen on it. God spread a cloud for covering and fire to give light by night, gave them quail and bread from heaven to the full, and opened the rock so that water gushed out and flowed like a river in the desert. The provision in the wilderness is recounted as evidence of God’s relentless care for his redeemed people.

The psalm names the reason for all this faithfulness: for he remembered his holy promise, and Abraham his servant. So he brought his people out with joy, his chosen ones with singing, and gave them the lands of the nations as their inheritance — all so that they might keep his statutes and observe his laws. The recital ends with Praise the LORD! God’s faithfulness to his covenant, demonstrated from Abraham through the exodus to the gift of the land, has one ultimate purpose: a redeemed people who live in obedient worship of their faithful God.

Together
Unquenchable love and covenant faithfulness tie the day together. The Song crowns its celebration with love as strong as death, the very flame of the LORD, that no flood can quench and no wealth can buy; Paul oversees the gift of love with careful integrity, the fruit of grace; Psalm 105 recounts God’s relentless, covenant-keeping love that redeemed and provided for his people. In each, love is powerful, faithful, and self-giving.

The connecting truth is that God’s love for his people is as strong as death and unquenchable, and it calls forth answering love and faithfulness. The Song’s flame of the LORD that floods cannot drown is the love with which God pursued Israel out of Egypt and pursues his church through Christ; Psalm 105 shows that love keeping its holy promise across generations; Paul’s careful collection is the church’s love responding in tangible generosity. The God who loves with a death-defying flame keeps every promise and welcomes the love and the giving of his people in return.

So the application is to rest in God’s unquenchable love and to let it overflow in faithful love and generosity. Take comfort that the love with which God holds you is as strong as death, a flame no flood of trouble or opposition can quench, and that he keeps his holy promise across every generation. And let that love stir an answering devotion — a wholehearted belonging to him, and a generous, accountable love toward his people in need. The God whose love cannot be drowned redeemed you with joy and singing; love him in return, and let your love spill over to others.

September 7, 2026

Isaiah 1:1–2:22; 2 Corinthians 9:6–15; Psalm 106:1–15

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Isaiah 1:1–2:22
The book of Isaiah opens with God’s lawsuit against his people, and the charge is stunning ingratitude: the ox knows its owner and the donkey its master’s manger, but Israel does not know, my people do not understand. Despite being nurtured and raised by God, they have rebelled, a sinful nation laden with iniquity, so corrupt that the whole body is sick from head to foot. Their religious observance only worsens the offense — God is weary of their multiplied sacrifices, their solemn assemblies, their many prayers — because their hands are full of blood. Worship divorced from justice and righteousness is not pleasing to God but nauseating to him.

Yet even in this opening indictment, grace breaks through with one of Scripture’s great invitations. Come now, let us reason together, says the LORD: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool. The God who exposes their sin in the harshest terms immediately offers full and astonishing cleansing. The choice is set before them — if they are willing and obedient, they will eat the good of the land; if they refuse and rebel, they will be devoured. Judgment is real, but mercy is held out first.

Chapter 2 lifts the gaze to a glorious future hope alongside a warning of coming judgment. In the latter days the mountain of the LORD’s house shall be established as the highest of mountains, and all nations shall flow to it, saying, come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, that he may teach us his ways; he shall judge between the nations, and they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks, and learn war no more. But before that day comes a day of reckoning against all human pride — for the LORD of hosts has a day against everything proud and lofty, and the haughtiness of man shall be humbled, and the LORD alone will be exalted. Isaiah holds together unsparing exposure of sin, free offer of cleansing, certain judgment on pride, and the radiant hope of a coming peace.

2 Corinthians 9:6–15
Paul completes his teaching on generosity with principles that have shaped Christian giving ever since. Whoever sows sparingly will reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will reap bountifully; each should give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. Generosity is to flow freely and joyfully from a willing heart, not grudgingly from external pressure.

Paul assures the Corinthians that God is able to supply all they need for such generosity: God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work. The point of God’s provision is not hoarding but overflow — he supplies seed to the sower and bread for food, and will supply and multiply the giver’s resources, enriching them in every way to be generous in every way. God gives to those who give, fueling an ever-widening circle of grace.

The result of this generosity reaches beyond the immediate need, Paul says, producing thanksgiving to God: the relief of the saints will overflow in many thanksgivings to God, and the recipients will glorify God and pray for the givers. The whole enterprise of generous giving binds the church together in mutual love and rises to God in praise. Paul closes the section with a burst of worship at the supreme gift behind all giving: thanks be to God for his inexpressible gift — the gift of Christ himself, the fountain from which all Christian generosity flows.

Psalm 106:1–15
This psalm begins as a companion to Psalm 105, but where that psalm recounted God’s faithfulness, this one rehearses Israel’s unfaithfulness — a confession of national sin. It opens with praise: give thanks to the LORD, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever; who can utter his mighty deeds? The psalmist longs to share in the welfare of God’s chosen and confesses, both we and our fathers have sinned; we have committed iniquity and done wickedly.

The confession begins with the exodus generation, who, even after the great deliverance, did not consider God’s wondrous works or remember his steadfast love, but rebelled at the Red Sea. Yet God saved them for his name’s sake, to make known his mighty power, dividing the sea so they passed through and covering their enemies. They believed his words and sang his praise — but they soon forgot his works and did not wait for his counsel, craving in the wilderness and putting God to the test. The psalm sets human forgetfulness and ingratitude against God’s persistent mercy, a sobering mirror for every generation tempted to forget.

Together
Sin exposed, grace offered, and generosity overflowing tie the day together. Isaiah exposes Israel’s ingratitude and empty worship yet offers astonishing cleansing — scarlet sins made white as snow; Paul celebrates the cheerful generosity that flows from God’s abounding grace and culminates in thanks for his inexpressible gift; Psalm 106 confesses the people’s forgetfulness against God’s saving mercy. In each, human sin and ingratitude meet the overflowing grace of God.

The connecting truth is that God’s grace is greater than our sin and ingratitude, and it both cleanses and overflows into generosity and praise. Isaiah’s people deserved judgment yet were offered snow-white cleansing; the exodus generation forgot God’s works yet were saved for his name’s sake; the Corinthians’ generosity is fueled by the God who makes all grace abound and gives his inexpressible gift. The proper response to such grace is not empty ritual or forgetfulness but cleansed lives, cheerful generosity, and overflowing thanksgiving.

So the application is to receive God’s cleansing grace, refuse empty or forgetful religion, and let grace overflow in cheerful generosity and praise. Like Isaiah’s hearers, do not imagine that religious activity covers for injustice or rebellion; come and reason with the God who turns scarlet sins white as snow. Like the Corinthians, give cheerfully and freely, trusting the God who makes all grace abound, so that your generosity produces thanksgiving to God. And like Psalm 106’s confession, guard against the forgetfulness that takes God’s mercies for granted — remember his works, and let gratitude keep your worship genuine. Thanks be to God for his inexpressible gift.

September 8, 2026

Isaiah 3:1–5:7; 2 Corinthians 10:1–18; Psalm 106:16–31

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Isaiah 3:1–5:7
Isaiah announces coming judgment on Jerusalem and Judah, describing how God will remove the supports of society — the leaders, the warriors, the judges, the elders — leaving chaos in which the unqualified rule and the people oppress one another. The prophet indicts the leaders for devouring the poor and grinding their faces, and turns a sharp word against the proud, luxurious women of Zion, whose finery will be stripped away in the day of judgment. The picture is of a society whose injustice and pride have invited the unraveling of its very order.

Amid the gloom, a bright promise appears: in that day the branch of the LORD shall be beautiful and glorious, and the survivors of Israel will be called holy, washed clean by the LORD through a spirit of judgment and burning, with God’s protecting presence over Zion like the cloud and fire of the exodus. Judgment and redemption stand side by side; God will purge his people but also preserve and cleanse a holy remnant under his sheltering glory.

Chapter 5 contains the haunting Song of the Vineyard, one of Isaiah’s most powerful parables. God planted a vineyard on a fertile hill, cleared it, planted the choicest vines, and looked for good grapes — but it yielded only wild grapes. What more could have been done? Now God will remove its hedge and let it be trampled and overgrown. The interpretation is devastating: the vineyard is Israel, and God looked for justice but found bloodshed, for righteousness but heard a cry of distress. The song then pronounces a series of woes on those who join house to house and field to field until they dwell alone, who rise early to pursue drink, who call evil good and good evil. The God who lavished every care on his vineyard is grieved and angered by its barrenness.

2 Corinthians 10:1–18
Paul shifts to defend his apostolic authority against critics in Corinth who said his bodily presence was weak and his speech contemptible, even though his letters were weighty. He appeals to them by the meekness and gentleness of Christ, and acknowledges that some accuse him of walking according to the flesh. But, he says, though we walk in the flesh, we do not wage war according to the flesh; the weapons of our warfare are not fleshly but have divine power to destroy strongholds, to demolish arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and to take every thought captive to obey Christ. The real battle is spiritual, fought with divine power, not human bravado.

Paul addresses the charge that he is bold in letters but timid in person, insisting that what he says by letter when absent he will be in action when present. But he refuses to play the comparison game his critics love — those who measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another are without understanding. He will not boast beyond proper limits, but only within the sphere of ministry God has assigned him, which includes his pioneering work among the Corinthians themselves.

His ambition, Paul says, is to preach the gospel in lands beyond, not to boast in another’s territory or take credit for work already done. The principle that governs all his self-defense is summed up in a quotation from Jeremiah: let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord. For it is not the one who commends himself who is approved, but the one whom the Lord commends. Against critics who trade in self-promotion and comparison, Paul grounds all legitimacy in the Lord’s commendation alone.

Psalm 106:16–31
The psalm continues its confession of Israel’s repeated rebellions in the wilderness. The people grew jealous of Moses and Aaron, and the earth swallowed the rebels; at Horeb they made a golden calf and exchanged the glory of God for the image of an ox that eats grass, forgetting God their Savior who had done great things in Egypt. Their idolatry provoked God’s wrath, and he would have destroyed them had not Moses stood in the breach before him to turn away his wrath.

The catalog of rebellion continues — they despised the pleasant land, did not believe God’s promise, grumbled in their tents, and would not obey, so that God swore they would fall in the wilderness. They yoked themselves to the idol of Baal of Peor and provoked a plague, until Phinehas stood up and intervened, and it was counted to him as righteousness. The psalm relentlessly documents how persistently the people sinned, and how repeatedly God’s wrath was stayed by intercessors who stood in the breach — a foreshadowing of the great Intercessor to come.

Together
God’s grief over a fruitless people and the intercession that stands in the breach tie the day together. Isaiah’s vineyard song grieves that God looked for justice and righteousness but found bloodshed and a cry; Paul wages spiritual war to take every thought captive to Christ and grounds all legitimacy in the Lord’s commendation; Psalm 106 confesses Israel’s idolatry and the intercessors who turned away God’s wrath. In each, God’s people fail him, and the question is what will stand in the breach.

The connecting truth is that a people lavished with God’s care still produces barren fruit and rebellion, and only intercession and the captivity of every thought to Christ can address it. The vineyard had every advantage yet yielded wild grapes; the wilderness generation saw every wonder yet made a calf; both needed someone to stand in the breach. Paul’s spiritual weapons that demolish strongholds and take thoughts captive to Christ point to the deeper remedy — the transformation of the rebellious heart and the great Intercessor who stands in the breach for his people.

So the application is to bear the fruit God seeks, to take our thoughts captive to Christ, and to value intercession. Examine whether your life, like the vineyard, has received every advantage yet yields bitterness rather than the justice and righteousness God looks for; let the warning grieve you toward genuine fruit. Wage the real battle on the spiritual front, demolishing the proud arguments raised against the knowledge of God and bringing every thought captive to Christ. And take heart that where Moses and Phinehas stood in the breach to turn away wrath, Christ now stands as the great Intercessor — boast not in yourself, but in the Lord who commends and who saves.

September 9, 2026

Isaiah 5:8–8:10; 2 Corinthians 11:1–15; Proverbs 22:7–16

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Isaiah 5:8–8:10
Isaiah completes the woes of the vineyard song and then comes to the pivotal account of his call. In the year King Uzziah died, he sees the LORD seated on a throne, high and lifted up, the train of his robe filling the temple, while the seraphim cry, holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory. Confronted with God’s blazing holiness, Isaiah is undone: woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips dwelling among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts. The vision of God’s holiness produces not exhilaration but a crushing awareness of sin.

But God provides cleansing. A seraph flies to Isaiah with a burning coal from the altar and touches his lips, declaring his guilt taken away and his sin atoned for. Then comes the commission: Isaiah hears the LORD ask, whom shall I send, and who will go for us? and he answers, here I am, send me. The pattern is the gospel pattern — a vision of God’s holiness, a recognition of sin, a gracious cleansing, and then a call to service. The cleansed sinner becomes the willing messenger, though God warns that his message will largely meet hardened hearts.

The following chapters set Isaiah’s ministry in its historical crisis, as the kings of Israel and Syria threaten Judah and King Ahaz trembles. Isaiah brings God’s word of reassurance and the call to faith — if you are not firm in faith, you will not be firm at all — and offers Ahaz a sign. When Ahaz feigns piety and refuses, God gives the sign anyway, the great promise that the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel, God with us. Amid threat and unbelief, God promises a coming child who embodies his presence with his people, a promise that reaches its fulfillment in Christ. The God who is high and lifted up in holiness is also the God who will be with us.

2 Corinthians 11:1–15
Paul continues defending his ministry, but now with a jealous, fatherly concern for the Corinthians’ faithfulness. He feels a divine jealousy for them, having betrothed them to one husband, Christ, to present them as a pure virgin — and he fears that, as the serpent deceived Eve, their thoughts may be led astray from a sincere and pure devotion to Christ. They have been tolerating those who preach another Jesus, a different spirit, a different gospel, and Paul will not stand for it.

He defends himself against the so-called super-apostles who have dazzled the Corinthians. Though he may be unskilled in speaking, he is not in knowledge, and he has made the truth plain to them. He even addresses the odd grievance that he had refused their financial support, preaching the gospel to them free of charge while accepting help from other churches — he did this, he says, out of love, to remove any ground for the boasting of his rivals, and he will continue to do so. His refusal of their money was an act of love, not a sign of inferiority.

Paul then unmasks his opponents in the sharpest terms. Such men are false apostles, deceitful workmen, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ — and no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light, so it is no surprise that his servants disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their deeds. Paul’s fierce words flow not from wounded pride but from his pastoral jealousy to keep the Corinthians faithful to the pure gospel of Christ against those who would seduce them with a counterfeit.

Proverbs 22:7–16
The proverbs weigh wealth, justice, and the consequences of sowing. The rich rules over the poor, and the borrower is the slave of the lender; whoever sows injustice will reap calamity, and the rod of his fury will fail. A bountiful eye will be blessed, for he shares his bread with the poor — generosity brings blessing, while oppression brings ruin.

The collection commends purity and warns of folly’s traps. He who loves purity of heart and has gracious speech will have the king as his friend; the eyes of the LORD keep watch over knowledge, overthrowing the words of the traitor. Folly is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline drives it far away; and the one who oppresses the poor to increase his wealth, or gives to the rich, will only come to poverty. Wisdom is generous, pure, and just, while injustice and oppression carry the seeds of their own undoing.

Together
The holiness of God, the cleansing of the sinner, and faithfulness to the pure gospel tie the day together. Isaiah sees the thrice-holy God, is undone by his own uncleanness, is cleansed by the coal from the altar, and is sent — and receives the promise of Immanuel; Paul jealously guards the Corinthians’ pure devotion to Christ against false apostles; Proverbs commends purity of heart and gracious speech. In each, encountering the holy God leads to cleansing, calling, and a guarded faithfulness.

The connecting truth is that the vision of God’s holiness both exposes our sin and leads, through cleansing, to devoted service and a jealous guarding of the truth. Isaiah’s woe is me becomes here I am, send me only because the burning coal atones for his sin; Paul’s fierce defense of the gospel flows from a holy jealousy to present the church as a pure bride to Christ. The God who is high and lifted up in unapproachable holiness is also the God who cleanses unclean lips and dwells with his people as Immanuel — and those who have seen him are zealous to keep his gospel pure.

So the application is to let the vision of God’s holiness humble, cleanse, and commission us, and to guard the pure gospel jealously. Like Isaiah, do not approach the holy God casually; let the sight of his holiness expose your sin, receive the cleansing he provides at the altar, and then answer his call with here I am, send me. Like Paul, treasure a sincere and pure devotion to Christ, and refuse to tolerate a different gospel, however dazzling its messengers, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light. The thrice-holy God who cleanses unclean lips has come to be Immanuel, God with us — see his holiness, receive his cleansing, go where he sends, and keep your devotion pure.

Week 35 — Table of Contents

• August 27, 2026
• August 28, 2026
• August 29, 2026
• August 30, 2026
• August 31, 2026
• September 1, 2026
• September 2, 2026

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August 27, 2026

Job 30:1–32:22; 2 Corinthians 1:12–22; Psalm 103:13–22

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Job 30:1–32:22
Job’s nostalgia for his honored past collapses into the bitter contrast of his present shame. Where once the noblest sought his counsel, now he is mocked by the lowest of society, the very outcasts whose fathers he would not have set with his dogs; they spit at him and treat him with contempt. He feels poured out, his inner being in turmoil, his skin black and his bones burning with fever, and he cries to God for help and receives no answer — I cry to you, and you do not answer me; I stand, and you only look at me. The silence of heaven is now his deepest wound.

In chapter 31 Job mounts his final defense, an extraordinary oath of innocence that surveys his entire moral life. He swears he has not lusted, lied, or dealt falsely; has not denied justice to his servants, the poor, the widow, or the orphan; has not trusted in wealth, gloated over enemies, or hidden his sin. He even invokes curses on himself if any of it is untrue, and ends longing for God to answer his case directly. It is the most thorough self-vindication in Scripture, and it confirms what the reader has known all along: Job’s suffering is genuinely undeserved. With this the words of Job are ended.

Then a new voice enters — Elihu, a younger man who has listened in silence and is now bursting with frustration at both Job and the three friends. He is angry at the friends for condemning Job without answering him, and angry at Job for justifying himself rather than God. Elihu claims that age does not guarantee wisdom; rather, it is the spirit in a man, the breath of the Almighty, that gives understanding. He promises to speak without flattery or partiality, sure that he must give vent to the words within him. His long speeches will form a bridge to God’s own answer, shifting the focus from whether Job sinned to whether Job can submit to a God whose ways exceed his understanding.

2 Corinthians 1:12–22
Paul defends the sincerity of his conduct, for it seems his change of travel plans had been seized upon by critics as evidence of unreliability. He insists his boast is the testimony of his conscience that he behaved with simplicity and godly sincerity, not earthly cunning, and that his letters mean exactly what they say. His vacillation, he argues, was not the fickleness of a man who says yes and no in the same breath.

He grounds his integrity in the character of the God he serves. As surely as God is faithful, Paul’s word to them was not yes and no — for the Son of God, Jesus Christ, was not yes and no, but in him it is always yes. All the promises of God find their yes in him, which is why through him believers say their Amen to God, to his glory. Paul’s reliability flows from the unwavering faithfulness of the God whose every promise is fulfilled in Christ.

And it is God who establishes both Paul and the Corinthians in Christ, having anointed them, put his seal on them, and given the Spirit in their hearts as a guarantee — a down payment on all that is to come. The trustworthiness of Paul’s ministry rests not on his own consistency but on the God who has sealed his people with the Spirit and whose promises are all yes in Christ. Human reliability is grounded in divine faithfulness.

Psalm 103:13–22
The psalm continues its meditation on God’s mercy with the tenderest of images: as a father shows compassion to his children, so the LORD shows compassion to those who fear him, for he knows our frame and remembers that we are dust. He understands our frailty completely — the very frailty Job feels so acutely — and his response to it is fatherly compassion, not contempt.

The psalm sets fleeting human life against everlasting divine love. Man’s days are like grass, like a flower of the field that the wind passes over and it is gone; but the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness to their children’s children. The psalm ends by summoning all creation — the angels, the hosts, all his works in all places of his dominion — to join the call: bless the LORD, O my soul. The frail, dust-made creature is held forever in the everlasting love of a compassionate Father.

Together
Human frailty and the faithfulness of God tie the day together. Job, poured out and mocked, ends his words with an oath of innocence and a cry for God to answer; Paul grounds his integrity in the God whose every promise is yes in Christ; Psalm 103 declares that God knows we are dust and shows us fatherly compassion, his steadfast love everlasting against our grass-like days. In each, frail and faltering humanity rests on the unwavering faithfulness of God.

The connecting truth is that God remembers our frailty and remains faithful when we cannot be. Job feels the full weight of his dust-made weakness and the silence of heaven, yet still appeals to God; Paul’s reliability is anchored not in himself but in the God whose promises are all yes; the psalmist marvels that the God who knows we are dust loves us from everlasting to everlasting. Our weakness does not disqualify us from God’s love; it is the very thing his fatherly compassion meets.

So the application is to rest our frailty on God’s faithfulness rather than our own strength or consistency. Like Job, even when heaven seems silent and you feel poured out, keep appealing to the God who knows your frame. Like Paul, ground your integrity and your hope not in your own steadiness but in the God whose every promise is yes in Christ and who has sealed you with his Spirit as a guarantee. And like the psalmist, take comfort that the God who remembers you are dust shows you a father’s compassion, and that his steadfast love outlasts your fleeting days. Bless the LORD, O my soul.

August 28, 2026

Job 33:1–34:37; 2 Corinthians 1:23–2:11; Proverbs 21:5–16

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Job 33:1–34:37
Elihu addresses Job directly and respectfully, inviting him to answer if he can, but pressing his central correction: Job has been wrong to claim he is clean and that God is treating him as an enemy without cause. Elihu’s distinctive contribution is the idea that God speaks and acts not only to punish but to teach and to save. God speaks in dreams and visions to turn a person from pride; he disciplines through pain on a sickbed to bring a man back from the pit; and he may send a mediating angel, a ransom, to declare a man upright and restore him. Elihu glimpses, however dimly, that suffering can be redemptive and that God may be at work to rescue rather than merely to condemn.

This is a genuine advance over the three friends. Where they saw suffering only as retribution for past sin, Elihu sees it also as God’s instrument to refine, to warn, and to draw a person back into fellowship. He calls Job to listen, promising that he wishes to justify Job if he can, and insisting that God is gracious and seeks to deliver the soul from the pit so that the light of life may shine on him. There is more pastoral hope here than in anything the older friends offered.

In chapter 34 Elihu defends the justice of God against what he hears as Job’s complaint. He insists that God cannot do wickedness, that he repays a man according to his work, that he shows no partiality to princes over the poor since all are the work of his hands, and that he sees every step a person takes. Elihu’s reasoning sometimes overreaches and edges toward the friends’ harshness, charging Job with adding rebellion to his sin by his defiant words. Yet his core insistence — that God is just and not to be accused — prepares the way for God himself to speak, when the question will shift from God’s justice to God’s incomprehensible greatness.

2 Corinthians 1:23–2:11
Paul explains the real reason he had not yet returned to Corinth: it was to spare them. He had decided not to make another painful visit, for he did not want to come in sorrow and grief; instead he wrote a severe letter out of much affliction and anguish of heart, and with many tears, not to cause pain but to let them know the abundant love he had for them. His apparent delay was an act of mercy, giving them room to repent rather than face him in confrontation.

He turns to the case of an offender who had caused pain, evidently disciplined by the majority of the church. Now Paul urges the opposite of harshness: the punishment has been enough, and they should turn to forgive and comfort him, lest he be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow. Paul calls them to reaffirm their love for him, for he had written partly to test whether they would be obedient in all things.

The pastoral wisdom here is striking. Discipline that achieves its purpose must give way to forgiveness and restoration, or it becomes destructive. Paul says he forgives in the presence of Christ for their sake, so that they would not be outwitted by Satan, whose designs they are not ignorant of — for the enemy can exploit unrelenting severity as easily as laxity, driving a repentant person to despair. Both the discipline and the restoration are done in love, with the person’s salvation in view.

Proverbs 21:5–16
The proverbs weigh diligence, integrity, and the futility of wickedness. The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance, but everyone who is hasty comes only to want; treasures gained by lying are a fleeting vapor and a snare of death. The way of the guilty is crooked, but the conduct of the pure is upright.

The collection contrasts righteousness and wickedness in daily life. Better to live in a corner of the housetop than share a house with a quarrelsome wife; the soul of the wicked desires evil and shows no mercy; when a scoffer is punished, the simple grow wiser. The righteous one observes the house of the wicked and sees them brought to ruin, for whoever closes his ear to the cry of the poor will himself call out and not be answered. The path of wisdom is diligent, merciful, and just.

Together
Discipline aimed at restoration ties the day together. Elihu argues that God uses suffering not only to punish but to teach, warn, and rescue from the pit; Paul disciplines the Corinthian offender but then urges forgiveness and comfort so he is not overwhelmed by sorrow; Proverbs shows that even the punishment of the scoffer makes the simple wiser. In each, correction has a redemptive purpose, not merely a punitive one.

The connecting truth is that God’s discipline, and the discipline he calls his people to exercise, aims at restoration and life. Elihu sees God disciplining a man through pain in order to bring him back and let the light of life shine on him; Paul insists that once discipline has done its work, forgiveness and reaffirmed love must follow, lest the enemy exploit excessive sorrow. The goal of correction in God’s economy is never destruction but recovery — to draw the wandering back into fellowship.

So the application is to receive God’s discipline as redemptive and to exercise correction toward restoration. When suffering or rebuke comes, consider with Elihu that God may be teaching, warning, or drawing you back, not merely punishing — and let it lead you toward him rather than into defiant despair. And when you must correct others, follow Paul’s wisdom: let discipline that has achieved its purpose give way to forgiveness, comfort, and reaffirmed love, lest unrelenting severity overwhelm the repentant. The aim, always, is to bring the soul back from the pit and let the light of life shine on it.

August 29, 2026

Job 35:1–37:24; 2 Corinthians 2:12–3:6; Psalm 104:1–18

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Job 35:1–37:24
Elihu’s speeches build toward their climax as he addresses God’s transcendence. He argues that human righteousness and wickedness do not add to or diminish God; our sin hurts other people, and our righteousness benefits other people, but God is too exalted to be touched by either. People cry out under oppression, he says, but often without truly turning to God as their Maker, who gives songs in the night — and so their empty cries go unanswered. Elihu is pressing Job toward humility before a God who is utterly above human leverage.

In his final speeches, Elihu turns to the wonders of creation as evidence of God’s greatness and his governance. He describes the thunderstorm in vivid detail — the lightning that God spreads to the corners of the earth, the thunder that is his voice, the snow and rain that he commands, the clouds he turns about by his guidance to accomplish whatever he commands. God does great things we cannot comprehend, and the storm itself becomes a sermon on the majesty and inscrutability of the Almighty.

Elihu closes by drawing the lesson directly: consider the wondrous works of God; do you know how God lays his command on them and makes the lightning shine? The Almighty is beyond our reach, great in power and justice and abundant righteousness, and therefore people should fear him; he does not regard any who are wise in their own conceit. Elihu has, perhaps unwittingly, set the stage perfectly — he points to the storm and the clouds and God’s incomprehensible greatness, and then, in the very next chapter, the LORD will answer Job out of the whirlwind, speaking of those very wonders. The young man’s words about God’s majesty give way to God’s own voice.

2 Corinthians 2:12–3:6
Paul resumes his account of his travels but quickly soars into reflection on the nature of gospel ministry. Even when a door for the gospel had opened, his spirit was restless until he found his colleague Titus; yet he interrupts himself with thanksgiving: thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession and spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere through us. Believers are the aroma of Christ to God — a fragrance of life to those being saved and of death to those perishing — and Paul marvels, who is sufficient for these things?

He insists that he is no peddler of God’s word, like so many, but speaks in Christ with sincerity, as commissioned by God and in his sight. Anticipating the charge that he is commending himself, he points to the Corinthians themselves as his credential: you are our letter of recommendation, written on our hearts, known and read by all, a letter from Christ written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts. The transformed lives of his converts are the only commendation he needs.

Such confidence, Paul is careful to say, is not from himself; his sufficiency is from God, who has made him competent to be a minister of a new covenant — not of the letter but of the Spirit, for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life. The contrast that will dominate the next chapter is introduced here: the old covenant written on stone could only condemn, but the new covenant ministered by the Spirit writes God’s life on the heart. Ministry is not human achievement but God working through frail vessels by his Spirit.

Psalm 104:1–18
This majestic creation psalm echoes the very themes Elihu raised, praising God as the Maker and sustainer of all things. Bless the LORD, O my soul — O LORD my God, you are very great, clothed with splendor and majesty, covering yourself with light as with a garment, stretching out the heavens like a tent, making the clouds your chariot and riding on the wings of the wind, with winds as messengers and flames as ministers. The God Elihu pointed to in the storm is here adored in his cosmic majesty.

The psalm celebrates God’s wise ordering of the world for the flourishing of life. He set the earth on its foundations, bounded the chaotic waters, and sends springs gushing through the valleys to give drink to every beast; the birds nest by the streams, the grass grows for the cattle and plants for man, bringing forth bread and wine and oil to gladden the human heart. Even the high mountains and rocks shelter wild goats and badgers. The same God whose greatness humbles Job has filled the world with provision and beauty, ordering all things in wisdom for the good of his creatures.

Together
The incomprehensible greatness of God in creation and the new life of his Spirit tie the day together. Elihu points to the storm and the wonders of creation as evidence of a God beyond human comprehension; Psalm 104 adores that same God who orders the cosmos and fills it with life; Paul describes a new covenant ministry in which the Spirit, not the letter, gives life and writes God’s word on human hearts. In each, the greatness of God is matched by his life-giving power.

The connecting truth is that the God whose majesty in creation overwhelms us is also the God who gives life by his Spirit. The same power that spreads the lightning, orders the seasons, and fills the world with provision is the power that makes dead hearts alive and writes the new covenant on them. Job is being humbled before God’s incomprehensible greatness; the believer is being made alive by that same God’s Spirit. The God too great to be grasped is not too distant to give life.

So the application is to bow before God’s incomprehensible greatness and to rest in his Spirit’s life-giving work. Like Elihu’s hearers and the psalmist, let the wonders of creation — the storm, the springs, the ordered seasons — humble you before a God whose works you cannot comprehend and lead you to bless him. And like Paul, remember that your sufficiency for anything good is not from yourself but from God, who by his Spirit gives life where the letter could only kill. The God whose majesty fills the heavens has stooped to write his life on your heart; adore his greatness, and live by his Spirit.

August 30, 2026

Job 38:1–40:2; 2 Corinthians 3:7–18; Psalm 104:19–30

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Job 38:1–40:2
At last the LORD answers Job out of the whirlwind — but not with the explanation Job sought. God never tells Job about the heavenly court or the reason for his suffering. Instead he answers a question with a barrage of questions, beginning, where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? He takes Job on a tour of creation: who set its measurements, shut in the sea, commanded the morning, walked in the recesses of the deep, entered the storehouses of snow? The effect is not to crush Job but to reorient him — to lift his gaze from his own narrow case to the vast wisdom and power that governs all things.

God’s survey ranges across the cosmos and the animal world with a kind of exuberant delight. He asks whether Job can bind the Pleiades, send forth lightning, provide prey for the lion, satisfy the appetite of the young ravens, observe the calving of the wild goats, loose the wild donkey, or trust the wild ox. The questions reveal a creation full of creatures Job never tamed, never feeds, never even sees — a world running on God’s wisdom and care, not Job’s understanding. The implication is gentle but profound: a God who so wisely governs all this can be trusted even where his purposes are hidden.

The point of the divine speech is not that God owes Job no explanation because he is merely powerful, but that God’s wisdom is so vast and his care so comprehensive that Job can rest in him without the explanation. God concludes this first round by challenging Job to respond: shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty? He who argues with God, let him answer it. The question is no longer whether Job sinned, nor even why he suffered, but whether Job will trust the wisdom and goodness of the God who made and sustains all things, even when he cannot see the reasons. It is an invitation to faith, not a demand for submission to raw power.

2 Corinthians 3:7–18
Paul develops the glory of the new covenant by contrast with the old. The ministry of the law, carved on stone, came with such glory that Moses’ face shone and the Israelites could not look at it — yet it was a ministry that brought condemnation and death, and its glory was fading. If even that fading, condemning ministry had glory, how much greater is the glory of the ministry of the Spirit, which brings righteousness and permanence. The new covenant surpasses the old as the permanent surpasses the temporary.

Because of this surpassing glory and permanence, Paul says, we are very bold. He contrasts his open boldness with Moses, who veiled his face so the Israelites would not see the glory fading. But that veil remains, Paul says, over the hearts of those who read the old covenant without seeing Christ; only in Christ is it taken away, and when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed. The old covenant pointed forward, but it cannot be rightly understood except by turning to the Christ to whom it points.

The chapter ends with one of Paul’s most luminous promises. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom; and we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. The believer who gazes on the Lord’s glory is progressively remade into his likeness by the Spirit. Where the law could only reveal and condemn, the Spirit transforms — turning beholders into reflectors of the glory they behold.

Psalm 104:19–30
The psalm continues to celebrate God’s wise governance of creation, now through the rhythms of time. He made the moon to mark the seasons and the sun to know its setting; he makes darkness, and the night becomes the time when the lions roar for their prey, seeking their food from God, until the sun rises and man goes out to his work until evening. The day and night, work and rest of all creatures unfold within God’s ordered care.

The psalmist marvels at the abundance and diversity of it all: O LORD, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures, and the sea teems with living things innumerable. Every creature looks to God to give them their food in due season; when he opens his hand they are filled with good, but when he hides his face they are dismayed, and when he takes away their breath they die and return to dust. When he sends forth his Spirit, they are created, and he renews the face of the ground. All life depends, moment by moment, on the open hand and the sustaining Spirit of God.

Together
The wisdom of God in creation and the transforming work of his Spirit tie the day together. God answers Job not with explanation but with the vast, wise, caring governance of all creation, inviting trust; Psalm 104 adores the God in whose open hand every creature finds its food and by whose Spirit all life is renewed; Paul describes how beholding the Lord’s glory transforms the believer by the Spirit into his image. In each, the God who wisely sustains all things is the God who can be trusted and who remakes his people.

The connecting truth is that the God whose wisdom governs the whole creation is trustworthy even when his purposes are hidden, and his Spirit is at work to transform. Job is led to rest in the wisdom and care he sees displayed across the cosmos, rather than demanding the explanation he wanted; the psalmist sees that same wisdom and care in every creature’s dependence on God’s open hand; Paul sees the Spirit of that God transforming beholders into the image of Christ. To trust this God and to behold his glory is to be changed.

So the application is to trust the wise, sustaining God where we cannot see his reasons, and to behold his glory that we might be transformed. Like Job, when no explanation comes, let the vastness of God’s wisdom and the comprehensiveness of his care turn your demand for answers into restful trust — a God who feeds the ravens and binds the Pleiades can be trusted with your pain. Like the psalmist, recognize your moment-by-moment dependence on his open hand and Spirit. And like Paul, turn to the Lord with unveiled face, beholding his glory, and let his Spirit transform you from one degree of glory to another.

August 31, 2026

Job 40:3–42:17; 2 Corinthians 4:1–18; Psalm 104:31–35

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Job 40:3–42:17
Job’s first response to God is humble silence: behold, I am of small account; what shall I answer you? I lay my hand on my mouth. But God is not finished. He challenges Job further, asking whether Job would put God in the wrong to justify himself, and then points to two great creatures — Behemoth and Leviathan — whose untamable power Job cannot begin to control. If Job cannot master these creatures, how could he hope to govern the moral order of the universe or call the Almighty to account? The questions complete the work of humbling Job, not by demeaning him but by setting his smallness honestly beside God’s greatness.

Job’s final answer is the turning point of the book. He confesses, I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted; he acknowledges that he spoke of things too wonderful for him, which he did not understand. And then the deepest line: I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes. Job’s repentance is not for the imagined sins his friends invented, but for having spoken about God’s ways as if he could comprehend them. What changes everything is not a new explanation but a new encounter — he has seen God, and that is enough.

The epilogue brings a striking reversal. God declares that Job has spoken rightly about him, while the three friends have not, and he requires them to bring sacrifices and have Job pray for them — the suffering, vindicated sufferer becomes the intercessor for those who tormented him. Then the LORD restores Job’s fortunes, giving him twice as much as before, new children, and long life. The book refuses easy formulas to the end: it never tells Job the reason for his suffering, and the restoration, though real, does not erase the loss. What the book gives instead is the assurance that God is wise, sovereign, and good, that the righteous sufferer was right to hold on, and that an encounter with God himself is the deepest answer to the deepest pain.

2 Corinthians 4:1–18
Paul describes the integrity and the cost of gospel ministry. Having this ministry by God’s mercy, he does not lose heart; he refuses underhanded ways and tampering with God’s word, but openly states the truth. If the gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing, whose minds the god of this world has blinded; but Paul proclaims not himself but Jesus Christ as Lord, for the God who said let light shine out of darkness has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of God’s glory in the face of Jesus Christ.

Then comes one of the great images of the Christian life: we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. Paul catalogs his afflictions — afflicted but not crushed, perplexed but not driven to despair, persecuted but not forsaken, struck down but not destroyed — always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested. The frailty of the vessel makes the power of God unmistakable; weakness is the very showcase of grace.

So Paul does not lose heart, for though the outer self is wasting away, the inner self is being renewed day by day. He sets the present against the eternal in words that have steadied countless sufferers: this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen, which are transient, but to the things that are unseen, which are eternal. The afflictions are real and heavy, but weighed against the coming glory they are light and momentary — and that eternal perspective makes endurance possible.

Psalm 104:31–35
The great creation psalm comes to its close in praise and longing. May the glory of the LORD endure forever; may the LORD rejoice in his works — the God who looks on the earth and it trembles, who touches the mountains and they smoke. The psalmist resolves to sing to the LORD as long as he lives and to make his meditation pleasing to him, rejoicing in the LORD.

The psalm ends with a sober note and a doxology. Let sinners be consumed from the earth, and the wicked be no more — a longing for the day when evil is finally removed from God’s good world — and then the recurring refrain: bless the LORD, O my soul. Praise the LORD! The contemplation of God’s wise and sustaining work in creation comes full circle to worship, the only fitting response to the God who made and upholds all things.

Together
Encountering God himself as the answer to suffering ties the day together. Job’s deepest pain is met not by an explanation but by a vision of God — now my eye sees you — that brings him to rest and repentance; Paul carries the treasure of the gospel in a frail clay jar, his afflictions light and momentary against an eternal weight of glory; Psalm 104 ends its meditation on creation in pure worship. In each, the sight and glory of God is what finally satisfies and sustains.

The connecting truth is that the presence and glory of God are deeper than any explanation and weightier than any affliction. Job never learns why he suffered, but seeing God is enough; Paul’s sufferings are crushing, but the surpassing power of God in the clay jar and the eternal glory to come make them light and momentary; the psalmist, contemplating God’s works, can only bless him. The answer to the deepest pain is not always information but God himself.

So the application is to seek God himself as the answer to our suffering, and to weigh present affliction against eternal glory. Like Job, let your wrestling lead you not merely to demand explanations but to encounter the living God, whose presence is a deeper answer than any reason he might give — and having seen him, trust his wisdom and goodness even in the dark. Like Paul, recognize that the treasure shines most clearly through the cracked clay jar, that weakness showcases God’s power, and that the heaviest affliction is light and momentary beside the eternal weight of glory. Look not to what is seen and transient, but to what is unseen and eternal — and bless the LORD, O my soul.

September 1, 2026

Ecclesiastes 1:1–3:22; 2 Corinthians 5:1–10; Proverbs 21:17–26

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Ecclesiastes 1:1–3:22
The Preacher opens with a verdict that hangs over the whole book: vanity of vanities, all is vanity. The Hebrew word suggests vapor, breath, mist — something fleeting, insubstantial, impossible to grasp. He surveys life under the sun and finds it a weary cycle: generations come and go, the sun rises and sets, the rivers run to a sea that is never full, and there is nothing new; what has been will be again, and even the wise are forgotten like the foolish. He is examining life on its own terms, without reference to eternity, and on those terms it slips through the fingers.

The Preacher tests every avenue of meaning and finds each one a chasing after wind. He pursues wisdom, and finds that in much wisdom is much vexation; he pursues pleasure, wine, great works, houses, gardens, wealth, and entertainment, denying himself nothing, and concludes there is nothing to be gained under the sun. He notes the bitter truth that the wise man and the fool both die, and that all a man’s labor must be left to someone who did nothing for it and may squander it. Apart from God, achievement and pleasure alike cannot fill the void.

Yet the bleakness is punctuated by glimpses of grace. There is nothing better, the Preacher says, than to eat, drink, and find enjoyment in one’s toil — and this, he sees, is from the hand of God, a gift to be received rather than a meaning to be manufactured. Chapter 3 offers the famous poem on time: a season for everything, a time to be born and to die, to weep and to laugh, to mourn and to dance. God has made everything beautiful in its time, and has put eternity into the human heart — yet so that man cannot find out what God has done from beginning to end. There is the ache of the book: we are made for eternity but cannot grasp it on our own, and so we are thrown back on receiving each day as God’s gift and fearing him.

2 Corinthians 5:1–10
Paul continues his meditation on present frailty and future glory with the image of a tent and a building. We know that if this earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in the heavens, not made with hands. So we groan in this tent, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, not wishing to be unclothed but further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. The frailty Job felt and the Preacher lamented is here met with the hope of an eternal, imperishable dwelling.

God himself has prepared us for this very thing, Paul says, and has given us the Spirit as a guarantee — a down payment securing the future. So we are always of good courage; we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Indeed, Paul would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. The believer’s groaning is not despair but homesickness for a glory already guaranteed.

Whether at home in the body or away, then, the believer makes it his aim to please the Lord, for we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil. The eternal hope does not breed indifference to how we live now; it intensifies the call to please the Lord in everything, knowing that this fleeting, vapor-like life under the sun will be weighed by the One who has prepared an eternal house for his people.

Proverbs 21:17–26
The proverbs commend discipline, righteousness, and self-control over indulgence and laziness. Whoever loves pleasure will be a poor man; he who loves wine and oil will not be rich — a fitting echo of the Preacher’s discovery that pleasure cannot satisfy. The wicked becomes a ransom for the righteous, and it is better to live in a desert than with a quarrelsome and fretful woman.

The collection prizes the wise person’s restraint and foresight. Precious treasure and oil are in a wise man’s dwelling, but a fool devours it; whoever pursues righteousness and kindness finds life and honor; one who guards his mouth and tongue keeps himself out of trouble. The sluggard’s craving kills him because his hands refuse to labor, and all day long he covets, while the righteous gives and does not hold back. Diligence, generosity, and self-control are the path of life.

Together
The vapor of life under the sun and the eternal dwelling prepared by God tie the day together. The Preacher finds that everything under the sun is fleeting vapor, impossible to grasp, yet sees that enjoyment is God’s gift and that he has set eternity in the heart; Paul looks past the groaning tent to the eternal house from God, guaranteed by the Spirit; Proverbs warns that the pursuit of pleasure cannot satisfy. In each, the fleeting nature of earthly life points beyond itself to something eternal.

The connecting truth is that life on its own terms cannot satisfy the heart made for eternity, but God has prepared something that can. The Preacher’s honest despair over a graspless, vapor-like existence is precisely the ache of a heart with eternity in it; Paul names the answer — an eternal dwelling, the Spirit as guarantee, life with the Lord. The Preacher could only receive each day as God’s gift and fear him; the believer in Christ can do that and also live in good courage, homesick for a glory already secured.

So the application is to hold this fleeting life loosely while fixing our hope on the eternal dwelling God has prepared. Like the Preacher, refuse the illusion that pleasure, achievement, or wisdom under the sun can fill the eternity-shaped void, and learn instead to receive each ordinary day — your food, your work, your simple joys — as a gift from God’s hand. And like Paul, let your groaning in this tent be the homesickness of one who knows an eternal house awaits, guaranteed by the Spirit, so that whether at home or away you make it your aim to please the Lord. We were made for eternity; receive today as gift, and live for the day you will be at home with him.

September 2, 2026

Ecclesiastes 4:1–6:12; 2 Corinthians 5:11–6:2; Psalm 105:1–11

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Ecclesiastes 4:1–6:12
The Preacher continues his unflinching survey of life under the sun, and his eye falls on its injustices and isolations. He sees the tears of the oppressed who have no comforter, and power on the side of their oppressors; he observes that much labor and skill spring from envy of a neighbor, itself a chasing after wind. Yet he commends companionship with one of the book’s most memorable images: two are better than one, for if they fall, one will lift up the other, and a threefold cord is not quickly broken. Even amid vanity, shared life is a real good.

He warns against empty religion and rash words before God. Guard your steps when you go to the house of God; be quick to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who do not know they are doing evil; let your words be few, for God is in heaven and you are on earth. When you make a vow to God, pay it, for he has no pleasure in fools. The Preacher’s reverence is real even amid his bleakness — God is to be feared, and approached with humble, careful, honest worship rather than careless babble.

Chapters 5 and 6 expose the emptiness of wealth pursued as an end. The lover of money is never satisfied; wealth keeps its owner awake; riches are lost in a bad venture and cannot be carried into death, for as a man came naked, so he shall go. The Preacher’s recurring counsel returns: it is good and fitting to eat, drink, and find enjoyment in one’s toil, for this is God’s gift, and the one to whom God gives wealth and the power to enjoy it is blessed. But the one who has wealth and honor yet no power to enjoy them, or who lives long without finding good, is in a worse state — for desire is never satisfied, and what advantage has the wise over the fool? Life under the sun, apart from God’s gift of contentment, is a hunger that nothing fills.

2 Corinthians 5:11–6:2
Paul presses on to the heart of his ministry: the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded that one has died for all, therefore all have died; and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who died and was raised. The death and resurrection of Christ reorients the whole of life away from self and toward the Savior. From now on, Paul says, he regards no one according to the flesh; if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation — the old has passed away, the new has come.

This new reality flows from God’s reconciling work. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation — for in Christ, God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. The believer is not only reconciled but commissioned to carry the message; Paul and his colleagues are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through them: be reconciled to God.

The climax is one of the great gospel summaries in all of Scripture: for our sake God made him who knew no sin to be sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. The sinless Christ took our sin; we receive his righteousness — the great exchange at the heart of salvation. And so Paul appeals urgently, working together with God, that the Corinthians not receive God’s grace in vain, citing Isaiah: behold, now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation. The fleeting, vapor-like life the Preacher lamented is precisely why now matters; the day of salvation is today.

Psalm 105:1–11
This psalm of praise calls God’s people to remember and proclaim his faithfulness. Give thanks to the LORD, call upon his name, make known his deeds among the peoples; sing to him, tell of all his wondrous works, glory in his holy name, and let the hearts of those who seek the LORD rejoice. Seek the LORD and his strength; seek his presence continually, remembering the wondrous works he has done.

The psalm begins to rehearse God’s covenant faithfulness as the ground of all this praise. He is the LORD our God; his judgments are in all the earth; he remembers his covenant forever, the word he commanded for a thousand generations — the covenant he made with Abraham, confirmed to Isaac and Jacob as an everlasting covenant, the promise of the land of Canaan as their inheritance. Against the Preacher’s vapor and the world’s injustice, the psalm sets the bedrock of God’s unbreakable, remembered covenant, the firm foundation that gives every generation reason to give thanks.

Together
The fleeting life under the sun and the urgent call of the day of salvation tie the day together. The Preacher exposes the emptiness of wealth and self-seeking, counseling reverent worship and contentment as God’s gift; Paul announces that in Christ we are a new creation, reconciled to God, and urges that now is the day of salvation; Psalm 105 grounds all praise in God’s covenant remembered forever. In each, the answer to a fleeting and unjust world is found in the faithful God and his saving work.

The connecting truth is that the brevity and emptiness of life apart from God make the gospel’s now all the more urgent, and God’s covenant faithfulness all the more precious. The Preacher’s vapor-like existence cries out for something solid; Paul provides it in the great exchange — Christ made sin for us that we might become God’s righteousness — and presses the urgency of receiving it today; the psalmist anchors hope in the covenant God remembers for a thousand generations. The fleeting becomes bearable only in light of the eternal God and his reconciling grace.

So the application is to receive God’s reconciling grace today and to live as new creations in a fleeting world. Like the Preacher, hold wealth and self-seeking loosely, worship God with reverence and few words, and receive the simple joys of life as his gift rather than chasing what cannot satisfy. And like Paul, let the love of Christ control you, so that you no longer live for yourself but for him who died and rose; embrace the great exchange by which the sinless one became sin that you might become the righteousness of God, and do not receive that grace in vain. Now is the favorable time; now is the day of salvation — so seek the LORD, give thanks for his covenant, and live as one made new.